


The Nightsaber

by HarvestSunlight



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types
Genre: Alliance vs. Horde, Amnesia, Animal Abuse, Battlescars, Cataclysm, Cross-Faction Romance, Dream Sex, F/M, Friendship/Love, Hormones Run Amok, Pandaria, Stuck in the Wrong Body
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-01-13 18:14:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 40,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1236265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarvestSunlight/pseuds/HarvestSunlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Zen'jakar stumbles across an abused nightsaber in a furbolg camp, the hunter takes her, thinking he'll be the envy of his friends having her as a pet. But she's no ordinary saber and it's only a matter of time before she remembers...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings readers. For those who are new to this fic, it is my first published on AO3 and I hope you enjoy it. I am no Warcraft scholar, but I've done my best to keep the story accurate and the timeline correct. For returning readers, as of 7/9/14, the first 10 chapters of the story have been revised, and lightly expanded. It isn't necessary to reread the whole thing, but certainly worth it. I'm sure it goes without mentioning that Warcraft belongs to Blizzard, and only my OC's to me. Alas.

**Chapter 1: The Attack**

_How did it all go wrong? One moment Alathdrus is conversing with the leader of the furbolg clan, leading negotiations as the chief envoy, and the next he’s holding his throat as his lifeblood gushes forth, a huge gash opened by the sweep of a bear-man’s claws. This was supposed to be a diplomatic mission, not a battle! I hear shrieking, so close, yet strangely muffled, like sound waves passing through water, and wonder who is making all the noise. It’s me. I gather my wits, shooting a wave of healing energy toward my fallen lover as Sanalea yanks me back. I can see in the fading glow of his amber eyes that it’s too little, too late. He crumbles to the earth in a bloody heap. “No!” I scream over and over, struggling to return to his side. I call on the power of Elune and shift my form. Now I am the one who slashes and claws. I am the one who rends flesh and draws blood. I will be vengeance incarnate. But there are so many of them. Were there this many before? They’re coming out of the forest from all directions. They are huge and vicious. The stench of Fel blood fills the air, floods my mouth. I see members of my party, blue and purple skin, ivory and green hair, now stained crimson. Sanalea disappears beneath a furry brown body. I roar my battle cry and leap in her direction. I’m coming, my friend. I never see the mace as it meets my skull. I never feel the ground as it rises to meet me._

* * *

 

This had just not been his week. First he broke his favorite skinning knife, then he got shafted at the auction house, and now it was pouring down rain and he was being randomly set upon by a pack of fucking drug-addled furbolgs. Zen’jakar was not a happy troll. At least the dumb beasts were proving an excellent outlet to vent his frustrations. Thank the Loa for small mercies.

“Lar’ja, take down the big one,” Zen yelled to his raptor, as he ducked the clawed swing of another, spinning to ram a dagger between the ribs of a third. The bear-man howled and stumbled back, giving him an opening to dash to the nearest tree and swing himself up to a reasonably safe height. While the big black and green lizard tore at his assigned enemy, the troll peppered the fel-tainted furbolgs with arrows. One down, shaft through the eye, next one foot pinned to the ground before two to the throat. Yet another screamed and clutched the wooden shaft protruding from his newly feathered face. All in all, the battle lasted less than ten minutes with six dead for the effort, and no survivors to run off for reinforcements. That’s if the brutes would even think to do so. Never know now.

Zen’s lips widened in a feral grin and he tossed his tusks, an F-you at the dead bodies. Battle always made him feel energized, bloodlust singing in his veins, and leaving the normal burgundy of his eyes glowing like coals. Pity they were no where near an outpost as he would gladly welcome some female assistance is coming down from his high. _Such is life_ , he sighed. Lar’ja was looking quite pleased with himself as he stomped his flattened foe into the muck. “Good boy,” Zen praised, hopping down from his perch and strolling over to pat the raptor on the neck. This earned him a few happy chirps and a nuzzle. “Gah! Enough with the bloody nose already,” Zen pushed the affectionate reptile of, wiping at the newly applied red smears. “So, shall we see if their camp is around here and get out of the rain? Maybe we’ll find something worth…well , something.” Not that he expected corrupted furbolgs to have anything of particular value, but it would be nice to get dry, maybe have a fire. It was getting on into the evening anyway.

As much as it offended Zen’s hunter creed to just leave kills to rot, there wasn’t a market for furbolg skins and he wasn’t about to go eating the damn things. The scavengers of Ashenvale could have at them. Circle of life and all that. A quick sweep for tracks found the trail back to the beasts’ camp. It wasn’t a long trek. The rain began to let up as the light waned, leaving a fine mist swirling around the shadows. The camp, if you could even call it that, was little more than a hovel of two mud and thatch huts with a central firepit. Bones and waste were scattered all about. “Foul creatures,” Zen muttered, stepping around piles of refuse. Lar’ja parked himself quite merrily under the patchy roof of one hut, munching on the jerky Zen tossed him. The main firepit was drenched and useless, but there was a room for a small fire in the corner of the other hut, and thankfully some dry kindling inside. Steeling himself against the pervading stench, he swept out the worst debris with a handful of rushes.

The blue-gray troll striped out of his soaked mail and leather, laying them out to dry, and wiped the still damp blood from his skin. Wearing soggy leather was just never comfortable, no matter how you looked at it. Sitting beside the flames, Zen carefully cleaned his dagger and the arrows he’d pulled from the dead furbolgs, absently munching on provisions. He and Lar’ja had made this long looping trip before, though not recently. Usually they stuck to the east side of Ashenvale, near Splintertree. This trip however, they were travelling from Orgrimmar across Ashenvale, east to west, then south skirting the Stonetalons and on into the Barrens and Mulgore. From there he planned to catch the Zepplin out of Thunderbluff back to Orgrimmar. The whole trip would take a couple months, by which time he’d have a full load of skins to sell and hopefully a few new stories to tell. Afterwards, it would be time to visit Sen’jin Village for a bit of vacation. Well, to be honest, his everyday life was more vacation than being at home. It never really felt like a home to him. With a wide, sharp-toothed yawn, Zen put away his polished weapons. Setting a trap across the doorway, he climbed into his bedroll to fell quickly into a dreamless sleep.


	2. The Furbolg Camp

**Chapter 2: The Furbolg Camp**

_Warmth. Sunlight. The storm must have broken overnight. If I open my eyes, the forest will be a magical sight, fresh from the rain and teeming with life. If I wish hard enough, would I find myself in a place of peace and beauty rather than my own endless nightmare? Not worth the bother. There’s no point. Why torture myself admiring what I can’t have? My entire existence is contained within the bars of this cage, lying in my own filth. Sometimes my captors toss me putrid scraps. I’m ashamed to say I eat them. More often than not they don’t. I can’t remember the last time my stomach didn’t pain me for want of food. Some days I’m kicked or prodded with sharp claws. I’m always bleeding somewhere, though the red liquid is thicker and more sluggish now. Other days I’m dragged out and beaten for their entertainment. I used to fight back, but I can’t find the strength anymore. There’s no relief, no escape; except perhaps in death. No, it’s better to keep my eyes closed. Only the foolish wish._

* * *

Zen woke to the symphony of the woods. Loa he loved this life. Just him and his pet, wandering the wild places, living for the thrill of the hunt; nothing and no one to tie them down. Sure he had to make his way back to civilization every so often. Sell his wares, pick up some supplies, find some willing bedmate for a night or two, but soon the hunt would call him back. He’d done his time as a soldier, slaughtering Alliance scum alongside his Horde brethren, even fought the Sourge for a time in Northrend. The whole truce thing never sat well with him though, not with his history. Turned him off to the military, it did. But that was no never mind. He’d still happily gut any Alliance he stumbled across in his travels.

Stepping from the hut, Zen stretched to his full seven and a half feet, vertebrae popping loudly. Lar’ja was still out cold, twitching in his sleep. _He’d sleep through a herd of fucking kudos running through the place._ The troll wandered over and gave the reptile a gentle two-toed kick. “Oy, wake up you lazy git. I don’t wanna hang around this dump all day. If we get a move on we can make Zoram’gar in a couple days. I need a drink.” His rude awakening received an annoyed grunt in response, but the raptor rolled to his feet, punctuated by a full body shake and a toothy yawn.

Zen and Lar’ja had been inseparable since the troll first tamed him as a teen. He’d been intrigued by the raptor’s unique dark coloring, which stood out boldly against the sands in Sen’jin. His black skin with bright green striping camouflaged quite well in the shadowed forest though. He’d been a challenge, no doubt, but the years had mellowed him considerably, molding him into a fine companion. They’d mellowed Zen too. The pair made a vicious team in battle and had once been quite sought after for raids. However, these days they kept to themselves. The solitary bachelor lifestyle suited them.

Once back in his sleeveless mail jerkin and snug leather pants, Zen loaded up Lar’ja with his packs and the furs they’d collected thus far. A quick glance around the camp showed, unsurprisingly, nothing worth taking. As they headed out in a south-westerly direction, Zen caught sight of something strange behind the huts. It looked like some sort of cage with a pile of dirty furs in it. _Odd_. Ignoring Lar’ja’s grunt, raptor speak for “I thought you were in a hurry to leave, I could still be asleep,” he made a quick detour to investigate. Probably nothing, but you never knew unless you checked. The stench of waste and rotted meat wafting from the cage was almost overpowering when he got close. “Ugh, what were you bloody bastards doing?” He was about to turn away, figuring it could be nothing good, when the pile of furs moved. Zen immediately had his bow off his back and an arrow knocked, creeping closer in an alert crouch. He needn’t have worried. The pitiful creature in the cage could not possibly have attacked.

On closer inspection, what Zen found just about broke his heart. It was a nightsaber, though in its current condition it could barely be called that. The great cat was skin and bones, covered in scars and open sores. It was so filthy he couldn’t even tell what color it was. He stowed his bow and swiftly cut the cords holding the door shut. Slowly reaching in, he stroked the feline’s head, murmuring quietly. The cat cracked its eyes, giving him a glimpse of silver, before hissing weakly. It had no strength left to protest.

“Lar’ja, get over here,” he called. The raptor approached with a clear look of distaste. Zen retrieved a leather strap from a saddlebag, which he gently tied around the saber’s muzzle. It may be weak unto death, but it was obviously feral, or at least it was now. No sense in getting himself bit trying to help it. Mouth secured, he grabbed the cat’s forelegs and pulled it out of the cage. “Oh, honey, what did they do to you?” As a hunter he respected all animals. He loved his pets and honored the creatures he killed. This was an abomination. Nothing living should suffer like this. She, and he could now see it was female, had barely an inch of flesh that wasn’t damaged. Her fangs were still intact, surprisingly, but her claws looked like they’d been hacked to bluntness with a blade. Her ribs and hips looked ready to poke through her skin. And Loa did she smell. For a moment he considered drawing his dagger and ending her misery then and there, but quickly discarded the thought. _Lar’ja’s  gonna hate me_.

Hoisting the cat up, he draped her limp form over the raptor’s back, much to reptile’s displeasure. “calm down, I promise I’ll make it up to you. Can’t leave the poor thing to die like this can we?” Lar’ja responded with a look that clearly stated they very well could. Zen thought he remembered a spring with a good size pool a little ways in the direction they were heading. He’d get her clean and patch her up there. Zen had no desire to stay in the foul camp a moment longer. Taking Lar’ja’s reins, he led them into the trees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who might be wondering why Zen doesn't have the usual troll accent, it's because he's speaking in his native Zandali. The accent come's out when he speaks another language, like Orcish.


	3. The Spring

**Chapter 3: The Spring**

 

 _I hear them open the door to my prison. Nothing good ever comes of that. Instead of claws piercing my skin to drag me out though, I feel a soft touch on my head. What are they playing at? It’s a huge effort to open my eyes; see what my captors are up to. Someone is touching me, but the shape of the body seems wrong. With the sun behind him I can’t really tell. No matter. The pain will come anyway. It never fails. I hiss at him weakly, just to let the bastard know I’m dead yet. That I still have some fight in me, though in all honesty I don’t. Yet still the pain doesn’t come. Large, gentle hands cup my face, stroking my brows. Maybe I_ am _dead. This certainly can’t be real. Then something is wrapping around my muzzle, tying it shut. Ahh, a new form of torment, then. Let me think I’ve finally escaped this horrid reality, and take away my last defense. Now I’m being dragged from my cage. What will they do to me today? I feel myself lifted and laid across…something. It’s moving. The sounds of the forest surround me._

* * *

 

It took them several hours to reach the glade with the spring. Zen was almost surprised the saber survived the short trip. _She must be a strong one_. Divesting Lar’ja of his burden, he carried her straight into the water, finding a rock he could prop her head on while her body soaked. It was going to take some serious work to get all the shit and blood out of her fur. He couldn’t help but think she must weigh half what she would in a healthy state. Not that he knew much about nightsabers. They were typically the companions of the Night Elves. In fact, he couldn’t think of anyone he’d come across amongst the Horde that had one. Fucking night elves. He couldn’t stand those holier-than-thou dorei. Always thinking they were better than every other race. So what if they used to be immortal? They died just like anyone else when you stuck’em with a blade. He grinned wickedly at the thought.

Thinking about Night Elves was just going to piss him off though, so he stripped down to his loin cloth and rummaged through his pack for some soap and medical supplies. He wasn’t sure what he might find once he got the caked filth off the cat. Better to be ready for anything. The saber hadn’t moved when he got back to her. Obviously didn’t have the strength to. He decided he might hate furbolgs as much as Night Elves. Almost. Slipping into the cool water, Zen painstakingly washed her fur, head to tail, _repeatedly_. She didn’t offer any resistance, even when he was tugging at the mats along her belly and gentling scrubbing around her eyes. Most of a bar of soap later, he sat back to admire his handiwork.

The saber was a gorgeous silvery white shot through with pale purple spots in no discernible pattern. Her bone structure was lovely, refined and feminine, but with a wild grace. There was a strange marking on her left shoulder, like a crescent moon with a spot in the middle, and pairs of parallel lines, mimicking claw marks, cascading over each eye. They were a darker purple than her spots and didn’t look completely natural. If he’d seen her in battle marked like that, he might have taken her for a Druid, but that certainly wasn’t the case here. No Druid would be prisoner of the furbolgs in their animal form. His educated guess was that she was the former pet of some Night Elf and the markings were identifying tattoos. She was certainly too small to be a mount. _I wonder how well she’s already trained,_ he mused _. Damn, I’m already thinking of keeping her._ _I’m such a bleeding heart._

Zen’s most pressing concern however, were the myriad sores and slashes scoring her hide. He gently cleaned each one, nearly gagging when he found maggots in more than a few. “You poor critter,” he said, talking to calm and soothe her. “There ain’t nothing you could have done to deserve this. But I’m gonna patch you up, stuff you full of food, and you’ll be good as new before you know it.” At the sound of his voice she opened her eyes and met his. They were a stunning, glowing silver, and vastly intelligent. They were also resigned. She’d given up. “I know you can’t understand Zandali, and if you belonged to a Night Elf, you’ll only understand Darnassian, maybe Common. We’ll work on that. You’re old master better be dead, cause if they’re not, and they left to in that place to rot, I’ll dedicate my varied talents to hunting them down and giving them more than a taste of what you’ve suffered.” She just closed her eyes again.

It took ages to clean the saber, and even longer treat her wounds. A few required stitches. She didn’t even flinch as the needle passed through her torn flesh. At some point during the process, Zen had sent Lar’ja off to hunt. He needed to get some food into the cat if she was going to survive.  By the time his mount returned with a deer, Zen had settled the damp feline on a fur and had a fire going. He’d untied her muzzle and tried to get her to drink some water, but she just stubbornly turned away. “No you don’t missy, you’re not just gonna let yourself die. Trust me, I’m more obstinate than you.” Eventually his persistence paid off and she drank a little, giving him a glare that clearly said she was only doing so to get him to leave her alone. _Got some spirit left in her yet._ Efficiently skinning the deer, Zen tossed the heart, liver and some blood in a pot to make a rich broth. No doubt she was severely anemic, in addition to dehydrated and starved. The blood and organ meat were just what she needed to regain her strength.

While the fortifying soup bubbled, Zen butchered the rest of the deer, setting aside the softer cuts for the saber and a few for himself before leaving the rest of the carcass to Lar’ja. The black raptor dug in with gusto, sending bits of meat and bone flying every which way. Zen laughed, ducking as some gore sailed over his head. “You are the messiest eater I’ve ever seen, mon! Watch your manners in front of our new lady here.” He was summarily ignored. “Don’t mind him girlie,” Zen said, sitting beside the cat and lifting her head onto his thigh. “He’s a goodin’ even if he eats like a heathen. Now try some of this. I promise you ain’t never tasted anything better.” Zen dipped a large finger into the broth and rubbed it across her gums, trying to spark some interest. The saber didn’t do anything at first, but he was patient and ultimately the tip of a long pink tongue came out to probe her lips. He dipped his finger again and offered it for her to lick. Glowing silver orbs watched him as he repeated the process until she was willing to lap from a bowl, a bit more enthusiasm appearing with every stroke. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, running his hand over her head and ears. When she finished the bowl and looked at him for more, he knew she was going to be ok. “No more for now. Your body ain’t used to food. We gotta take it easy at first. Now you stay here and digest while I go have my own bath. I think all your stink washed off on me.”


	4. The Naming

**Chapter 4: The Naming**

_What a strange creature I find myself with. I do not know what he is, but a nagging voice in my mind says I should. He is taller than my previous captors, through less bulky and furry. Dusky blue-gray skin covers lean ropes of muscle. I can tell just by watching him that he is very strong. He is beautiful; his movements graceful and precise. A natural predator … like me. Like I must have been. Once. I can’t remember. He has long ivory tusks, longer than my fangs. They jut straight from his lips nearly a foot with a gentle down-and-outward curve, the tips turning up. How can he grab prey with those? I would sink my fangs into bear-man flesh any chance I got, though the foul taste of their blood made me gag. This being feeds me clean blood. I do not want it, but my body has a mind of its own. I find my rough tongue snaking out to lick the hot, delicious brew from the proffered digit. I watch his eyes as I do. They are a deep red, deeper than the blood I’m drinking. They look kind and pleased. He speaks to me softly, but I cannot understand a word. Have I simply forgotten the language or did I never know it?_

_The creature strokes my head. It is wonderful to feel a gentle touch. I think I’ve felt one before, but not in a very long time. I want to purr my pleasure, but I don’t. My instincts tell me to fear him. That buzz in my brain tells me he is the enemy. I ignore it. I am so starved for kindness I will take what I can get, even if he will turn on me the moment after next. I finish the blood, cleaning every drop from the bowl. I feel warmth in my veins that I have not felt in some time. I feel a bit alive again. The sluggishness that has plagued my every attempt at movement begins to melt away. My head no longer feels like a rock. I stare into the red eyes and silently ask for more, but he only shakes his head and speaks to me again in that incomprehensible, yet strangely beautiful, language. I want to growl my unhappiness at this, but instead content myself with watching the creature bathe. He is very pleasant to look upon. He did such a wonderful job with me. I tried so hard to keep myself clean and civilized early in my imprisonment, but found the effort futile and gave it up. Now clean, I feel reborn. Perhaps I want to live after all._

* * *

It was amazing how the act of thoroughly cleaning the cat resulted in him being so dirty. Zen sniffed at himself, wrinkling his nose at the pungent aroma of sweat, shit, blood and ointment. _Ugh, I smell worse than the furbolgs!_ He dove into the depths, relishing in the cool weightlessness, before breaking the surface and shaking water wildly from his long, midnight blue hair. Braids and beads clacked and smacked him in the face. Sudsing, he started with his four big blue toes, working up over powerful calves and thighs. His chest, biceps and back were decorated with swirling black tribal tattoos and the occasional scar, the largest of which formed a ridge from his armpit to navel. It was an old injury and he’d long since adapted to the tightness of the malformed skin. His dark blue nipples were pierced, along with his right brow. The left had scar bisecting it. His long blue ears were decorated with multiple silver rings and studs. About his neck was a heavy pendant which he never removed. He was a fine example of a male troll in his prime. And like all male trolls, he knew it.

The nightsaber was watching him with those ethereal silver eyes of hers, head resting on her paws. He just couldn’t get over how pretty she was, even in her damaged state. Quite the diamond in the rough. He was going to be the envy of his fellow hunters with her at his side. And how many of them could claim to have mastered a former Alliance pet, especially a Night Elf’s? The thought excited him all the more. First things first though. With this little delay they were still around two days out from Zoram’gar Outpost. They’d camp out here at the spring tonight and get an early start in the morning. The cat, despite her newfound perkiness, was in no condition to walk. She’d have to ride on Lar’ja again. Granted, now that she didn’t smell like a cesspool, he doubted the raptor would make a fuss. They could afford to hang out in town for a couple weeks while her wounds healed and she put on weight. It would give him time to work on his backlog of skins. Besides, it would be nice to sleep in a proper bed for a bit. Much as he preferred being out in the wilds, his back protested it after a while.

Finally satisfied that he’d gotten the rid of the stink, Zen waded back to shore and flopped down by the fire to dry. He absently finger combed his hair and surveyed his new pet again. _Yep, definitely a keeper_. “Time to think of a name for you, girlie.” The saber gave him a half-curious glance. “I usually like to see how a pet hunts first, before naming, but it’s gonna be a little while before you’re ready for that, and I don’t fancy calling you ‘Cat’. Lar’ja there,” he said with a laugh, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at the raptor, “went through a bunch a names before we settled on one. He still answers to ‘pain in my ass.’” The raptor did indeed look his way just then, chirping in a questioning manner. “You know you are,” Zen tossed back. The saber just lay where she was, watching him impassively. She still hadn’t moved from her fur, not even to stretch or rearrange her limbs, but at least she held her head up and showed some interest in his commentary, even if she couldn’t understand it. He scooted over till he was sitting cross-legged in front of her. “I suppose you had a Night Elf name, but even if I knew what it was, I wouldn’t call you by it. Better you have a good, strong Zandali name.” He proceeded to run through a litany of troll words, rolling them around in his mouth, seeing if any stuck. “I got it! Luar-ke! A pretty name for a pretty lady. It suits you’re coloring too. And those lovely eyes of yours.” He rubbed her ears again, and scratched under her jaw.

Making pointed eye contact, he gestured at his chest and said “Zen’jakar.” He repeated the motion, tapping himself. “Zen.” He tapped her gently on the nose. “Luar-ke.” “Zen,” with a finger touching himself. “Luar-ke,” with another tap at her. The saber stared right back at him, head cocked for a moment, then began to purr.   


	5. The Outpost

**Chapter 5: The Outpost**

_I have a name. Luar-ke. A new name I suppose, since I don’t remember my old one, though I’m strangely certain I had one. Laur-ke. I repeat it over and over in my head. I have no idea what it means. The word is strange, just like the language, but I find I like it. My savior is Zen’jakar, his companion, Lar’ja. Other strange words that have no definition. Zen. It suits him. I find myself liking him, and not just because he feeds and pets me. Though his appearance is fearsome, I do not find myself afraid. I have quelled that nagging voice. I prefer Zen’s voice instead. It is calming._

_Today I walk a few steps. My body screams in protest but it feels liberating to use my legs again. My muscles have all but disappeared. I can barely hold up my withered frame, but still I make the effort, if only to prove something. To myself or to him I am not sure. Zen spoke words with the cadence of praise. They were happy and made me feel the same. Happiness. A vague concept the voice has conjured a title for. I never felt it while held captive, yet it seems a familiar emotion. I must have been happy before._

_We are travelling somewhere. I couldn’t say where. The forest changes little and I recognize less. Ashenvale, the voice whispers. Is that its name? Does a forest need a name? Ashenvale. If you say so, voice. I ride on the back of the creature Lar’ja, behind Zen. It is comfortable. There is a stack of furs tied to Lar’ja’s back and I lie upon them. I watch the forest pass. There are many different trees and flowers, occasional small animals. For some the voice gives me names. I accept what the voice tells me. I have no reason to question it, except when it tells me to fear Zen. He gives me different names for things. Sometimes he’ll point at something and say his word for it. I do my best to remember, though I cannot voice it aloud as he does. This frustrates me as I feel strongly that I should be able to speak. Perhaps it’s just wishful thinking._

_When we make camp the creature Lar’ja comes near to inspect me. He’s not shown interest in me before. I find his colors pleasing. Black and green, like shadows and leaves. His mouth is full of large teeth, many more than my own, some nearly as long as my fangs. They are very close to my face as he sniffs me. I’m not particularly comfortable with that, so I hiss at him. Zen laughs and speaks to Lar’ja. It sounds like scolding. The black and green creature gives me a dubious snort before moving away. I envy his understanding of the words. Zen has started a fire and I lay on the fur he has given me beside it. I watch him as he cuts deer meat into fine strips which I suspect he will feed to me. My stomach rumbles. Now that it has tasted real food again it always wants more. My stomach speaks to me. My mind speaks to me. Will my tail speak to me next? I stare off into the forest instead. Ashenvale…_

_“Laur-ke,” the creature, Zen, calls. “Troll,” the voice in my head names him._

* * *

 

They reached Zoram’gar on the evening of the second day, Luar-ke draped across Lar’ja’s back behind Zen. It wasn’t a big outpost, but it had the necessary basics. And it was strictly Horde, not one of those goblin neutral towns. Zen never did care for mingling. Two orcs stood guard at the gate and he halted before them, hopping to the ground.

“Name, rank and nature of your visit.”

“Good eve’nin tuh you tu, mon,” Zen replied, attempting to rein in the sarcasm. “My name be Zen’jakar. Ain’t got no rank no more, jus a simple ‘unter.”

“What’s your business here then?” The orc on the left asked. He was the typical green with bulging muscles and a chipped tusk.

“Jus lookin’ tuh rest muh feet at da inn for a bit. Got skins need workin’ an a pet needs healin’.”

“Alright, you can enter,” said the orc on the right. He was a smidge shorter than Lefty and had his long black hair tied up in a ridiculous looking foxtail.

“Pleasure doin’ biz’ness  witch yah,” Zen replied, leading Lar’ja through the gate with a roll of his eyes. _I’m a damn troll. Who do they think I am? An Alliance spy?_ Zen liked orcs; his best friend back home was an orc, but some of them really were dumb as posts.

He’d visited Zoram’gar years ago but the place had been built up some since then. Strolling along, he glanced back at Luar’ke. She looked like a queen on high, lounging on her pile of furs, watching keenly as her subjects went about their business. Her wounds had scabbed over and life had returned to her silver eyes. He’d been teaching her Zandali words. She certainly seemed smart, and once she was mobile again he’d test her to see how much she’d absorbed. Till then he’d make her comfortable in the stable. Which was somewhere around here…

The stable was not where Zen remembered, but it was right next to the new and improved inn which pleased him. Short commute to check on the kids and all. The stablemaster was an old orc, his hair thin and grey, with claw marks running over one whitened eye. _Risks of the trade I guess._ The orc shuffled out to meet him, running an appraising eye over Lar’ja.

“Fine raptor you’ve got there. Don’t see those colors every day.”

Zen gave a sage nod. “Yah mon, he be special.”

“How long will you need to stable him?”

“Not sure yet. Meh’be a week, meh’be more. My otha pet’s in rough shape. Needs some TLC.”

“What you got there?” Zen stepped aside so the orc could see Lar’ja’s passenger. “That’s a nightsaber, friend. With Night Elf markings on it. What are you doing with one of those?”

Zen hoisted Laur-ke to the ground, where she sat leaning against his leg. “Found ‘er in a furbolg camp few days ago. Poor girlie been put thru the ringer. I patched ‘er up a bit, but’s gonna take some time to ‘eal full up.”

“You thinking of keeping her? Don’t seem so smart to me. Better not have any elves come barging through here looking for their lost cat.”

“Nah, mon. ‘Er old mas’ta be long gone an’ dead. Ain’t no one comin’ lookin’ fo ‘er.”

“You better be right about that. Well come on then. Let’s get them settled.”

The orc took Lar’ja’s reins and walked into the stable. Zen was about to pick up Laur-ke but she wobbled forward on her own. _She’s certainly determined_ , Zen thought as he followed behind her. The stables were clean and airy, with clearstory windows letting in shafts of light. The stablemaster led Lar’ja into one big stall and pointed to the one next to it for the saber.  She lay down in the fresh straw immediately, worn out from her journey of twenty feet. Zen left her there to retrieve his packs off the raptor.

“So what’s this one’s name,” the orc asked.

“He be Lar’ja. Means “dark” in da Zandali.” Said raptor chirped and Zen gave him an affectionate pat.

The orc just grunted as he unbuckled the girth and bridle. Zen set his packs outside the stall, hunting through them for the cat’s blanket.

“Let’s take a look at this saber then,” the orc said as he closed the stall door behind him. He ran an expert eye over her, noting the protruding bones and healing wounds. “She _is_ in rough shape, but you’ve done a decent job cleaning her up. Those stitches are well done. It’s going to take time to bring her back.” Zen just nodded. “I’ve dealt with some starvation cases before. I’ll mix up some special food and give her multiple small meals a day. You name her yet?”

“Yah, mon. Be callin’ ‘er Luar-ke.”

“That another one of those Zandali names?”

“Means ‘moon.’”


	6. The Orcess

**Chapter 6: The Orcess**

_I’m running through the forest, the moss thick and soft beneath my feet, the trees rising like columns to hold the leafy canopy above like a second sky. Flowers and vines twine around each one, bejeweling the trunks with a cacophony of color. Ahead a clutch of sunbeam spears have punched through to the ground, and I stop to spin and dance among them. I hear laughter, innocent and light, bubbling like a brook around me. It is the sweetest sound I have ever heard. Where is it coming from? There! A flash of pink. No, there! A fleeting glimpse of blue. The laughter teases me, floats around me like a specter. I know you’re there… come out, come out! A giggle right behind me. I turn quickly to catch it. A face, delicate and small with glowing silver eyes. An infectious smile. A tiny five fingered hand reaching between the sunbeams to grasp mine. I look down to see it clasp its twin…_

_I wake. The sunlight is streaming through the clearstories, highlighting the dust motes in the air. I yawn widely, luxuriating in the softness of my bed, the easy warmth of the light. Blinking to clear my head, faint musical laughter fades away. I have the strangest feeling that I dreamt something important. But no, it’s gone with the fog of sleep. I didn’t dream while held captive. Not even nightmares. It’s a strange new phenomenon. Most everything is a strange new phenomenon, if I’m honest. I know I must have had a full and detailed life before the bear-men, but I have only what the voice chooses to tell me. The rest is simply gone. A dark blank in my mind._

_I halt my musings when two green figures appear. The voice told me they are called orcs. One I recognize as the old male from last night, but his companion is new. It is shaped differently from the others I have seen in my short tenure. Perhaps it is female. They converse in a harsh language I ignore. I do not wish to hear it. I want the beautiful sounds that Zen makes. The male enters my space clutching a bowl and some ointments. My eyes follow the bowl for it conveys the fare I desire above all else. The sweet, soft meats fuel this newfound life. When he sets it before me I offer a purr in thanks before diving in. I may never eat in the manner of Lar’ja, whom I can hear crunching bones nearby, but I believe Zen would be pleased with my enthusiasm. Speaking of Zen, I get a whiff of his scent; leather, forest and something spicy that I cannot name. It is a scent I have come to associate with safety and gentleness. Cleaning my muzzle with my rough tongue, I look around for him, but he’s not there. I scent the air, drawing in a lungful, eyes closed and nose held high. Yes, there it is. Weak, but present. I open my eyes and focus on the figure before me, cocking my head in confusion. It’s the female orc. Why does she smell like my Zen?_

* * *

 

“I be tellin’ you mon, dey was furbolgs corrp’ted wit da Fel. Six ah ‘em. Came outta nowhere an’ jump’t me an’ my rapta.” Zen was sitting at the bar of the inn, ale in hand, eagerly relating his tale to Grimfang, commander of the Outpost. The armored orc was still skeptical.

“Are you certain they weren’t regular furbolgs you’d just pissed off?” Zen gave him a withering look. “Alright, I’ll send a unit to check it out. Two days north-east? If the taint has migrated this far west it could become a problem. We already have the Naga to contend with. Last thing we need are more barbarians to fight. Thankfully we haven’t had problems with the night elves in a while,” he added, rapping his big green knuckles on the counter.

“Cheers ta dat,” Zen toasted.

“Speaking of, I hear you picked up a nightsaber from their camp,” the orc hedged. Wondering how he knew, Zen was slow to answer. “Small town,” offered Grimfang, reading Zen’s silence for what it was.

“Yah, found ‘er in a cage ‘hind da huts. Taught she were dead at first, but she a strong ting. I tink dem beasts was beatin’ on ‘er fo’ fun. By da looks o’ ‘er dey had ‘er fo’ months. Fo’ you ask, I ain’t seen no night elves aroun’, no’ any sign o’ ‘em. Meh’be da furbolgs kill ‘em. You know ‘ow them kal-dorei be meetin’ wit da ones at Timbermaw. Meh’be dey try ta meet wit da corrup’t ones too.”

“Yes, I’ve heard about that. Their druids have had some success with cleaning the taint from the ones that aren’t too badly infected, but I believe the Sentinels generally just slaughter them if they show any aggression. In that, I have to say I agree with them.”

At that moment Zen’s attention was diverted by a voluptuous orc woman making her way across the common room. She was dressed in leathers that fit her like a glove and showed off quite a bit of cleavage. “Well, been a pleasha speakin’ witch yah, Command’r.”

Grimfang, seeing where Zen’s focus had drifted, just chuckled and slapped him on the back, nearly causing the troll to inhale the ale he was sipping. “Have fun trying to tame that one,” he laughed as he went to find more attentive company. Zen just smirked at his retreating back. The orcess sauntered up to the bar and slid onto a stool a couple down, the bartender handing her a drink without even asking. Zen chugged the last of his ale while mapping out his plan for seduction.

“So what be your name sweet ting,” he purred, sidling up and tugging on one of her high ponytails. The orcess just gave him a sly smile and took a sip from her tankard. As far as Zen was concerned, foreplay was overrated and ended right after making ones intentions known. He’d wandered the width and breadth of the Horde territories of Azeroth, and had enthusiastically partaken of the varied female delights of all the Horde races. Well, except for the forsaken. There just wasn’t anything remotely sexy about a woman with her bones hanging out. He especially loved the fierceness of troll and orc women, and the fiery passion they brought to bed … or against a wall, behind an inn, in a boat. He wasn’t particular. Zen wasn’t interested in anything beyond an encounter or two and the frenzied release it brought. He entertained no plans of settling down, and made no effort to get to know the objects of his physical interest beyond which positions made them scream the loudest.

Half an hour later he was in his room, ponytails wrapped around both hands as the orcess licked up and down his shaft. He was balls deep, pounding her from behind, before he learned her name, which happened to be Lursa. _Easy enough to remember. Probably._ She was quite vocal about her enjoyment, and he was sweating bullets when he finally came hard and collapsed beside her. She was gone in the morning, just the way he liked it.

He was pleasantly sore from the previous night’s exertions. His bedmate had been quite creative. Deciding to go check on Laur’ke before breakfast, he threw on a sleeveless tunic and loose linen pants. The Innkeeper leveled him with an annoyed look as he entered the common room. “I ‘ope we didn’ make too much noise,” Zen said casually, not in the least contrite.

The innkeeper snorted. “Not at all. I’m sure they didn’t hear you in Orgrimmar.” Zen just smirked and sauntered out the door. On entering the stable, he found Lar’ja still asleep (no surprise there,) and Laur-ke wide awake and grooming herself. He’d just reached her stall when he heard a high pitched squeal and his knees were taken out from behind. He found himself flat on his back, his face being slobbered on by an overly friendly black boar. Hearty laughter could be heard coming down the aisle, as he shoved the beast off and attempted to wipe away the slime. Soon a familiar face and pigtails were looking at him upside down.

“Whatchu be laughin’ at woman? ‘Elp me up.” Lursa just giggled and did as he asked.

“Sorry about that. He loves everyone he meets. It just happens he wants you on his level to tell you about it.”

“Yah, well, I could do wit’out ‘is kinda greetin’.” The orc, apparently prepared, handed him a towel to wipe his face. “So whatchu doin’ in ‘ere wit your beastie runnin’ amok?”

“Actually, I’m the stablemaster.” Zen looked at her chagrinned, wondering if she’d told him that last night and he was too busy staring at her tits to process it.

“I taught de ole man was,” he diverted.

“That’s my Da. He taught me everything I know, and still helps me out when he’s up for it. So this pitiful thing is yours,” she turned looking over the partition at Laur-ke? The saber was looking back and forth between them, puzzling something out. _Yep, she’s a smart one. Gonna have to watch what I say around her lest it come back to bite me in the ass…with eight inch fangs._ Seemingly finished with her brooding, Laur-ke went back to grooming herself, pointedly ignoring her visitors.

Zen wasn’t entirely pleased with this turn of events, since he generally preferred to forget all about his conquests the next day. Granted there were a few notable exceptions to that rule. Lursa was good, but she wasn’t _that_ good. Couldn’t be helped now, though. “Yah, she mine. Gonna fix ‘er up and be da only troll in Kalimdor wit a saber as a pet.” The orcess didn’t look convinced, but he chose not elaborate. “I tink I be takin’ ‘er fo’ a walk on da beach dis mornin’. She need ta stretch ‘er legs if she gonna get ‘trong.” With that he retrieved his pet and beat a hasty escape.


	7. The Lesson

**Chapter 7: The Lesson**

_A week we have been in this place, and with every passing day I feel stronger. My wounds are fading and I’m shedding the patchy dead fur that signifies my starvation. In its place I grow a new hide that is sleek and soft. I admire my reflection in the water as we walk along the beach. Yes, my ribs are still visible, but I believe I am an attractive specimen regardless. Zen is humming a familiar tune. I have heard it many times now and know it by heart. I wish I could sing along with him, but alas my throat does not make such sounds. Sometimes I dream that I am singing, though I wonder how I would know what it feels like. Last night I dreamed of purple and blue and pink figures singing in unison, dancing hand in hand in an intricate pattern. I was among them, my voice, high and light, joining theirs; my feet knowing the steps. We were in some sort of glade, with stone pillars and arches. So many people, each with five fingered hands, five toed feet, and long delicate ears. Every one of them with glowing eyes. Even now, I could still hum the tune and recite the words, except I can’t. But I remember as though I could._

_I wish I could tell Zen about it. Perhaps he could explain. Instead I listen, ever silent, as he teaches me more of his words. He has tested me several times, giving me a word and expecting me to show him the object. I pass with flying colors. So now he teaches me the ugly language as well. He calls it Orcish. I would just as well not learn it, but it is what most people in this place speak and it is helpful to understand. In that sense it is almost as though Zen, Lar’ja and I have our own private method of communication, that only we can understand. Actually, I like that idea. It makes our relationship special. Let others have their rough speak, we will keep the beautiful words for ourselves._

_Zen has not mated with the orcess since that first night. Or if he has, they have both washed themselves clean of the other’s scent. This pleases me greatly. I do not wish to share him with another female, though mating is the furthest thing from my mind. I only wish to keep his affections to myself. Selfish perhaps, but I cannot help it. I have no choice but to interact with her in the stable, however I make it clear that I merely tolerate her presence. Zen has become friendly with another female, this one a troll, which bothered me until I scented a different male on her. A thick scent, one that speaks of regular mating. Since she is not trying to attract Zen, I am friendly with her. Murukai is lovely to look at. Her skin is a bright blue and her hair a shining copper red which she wears in braids. I am intrigued with her tiny tusks, so delicate compared to Zen’s. They jut toward the sky but are only an inch or two long. She laughs when I get close to her face to examine them._

_Zen and Murukai speak in the beautiful language, which means I can understand much of what they say. She speaks of creatures called Naga that live in the sea. She says they are vicious and attack those on land. I wonder what kind of fish can walk on land. It seems impossible, but then so do many things, to me at least. It is a beautiful day, the sun shining brightly, reflecting off the golden sand. Lar’ja and I lay side by side, listening as the two trolls make a plan to hunt the Naga-creatures. Zen says we shall go in three days, enough time for me to gain some more strength and training. He and I have been practicing, leaping from boulder to boulder in the shallow water, tree limb to tree limb on the edge of the forest. Yesterday I even caught a squirrel, which I presented to my master like a prize. He praised my efforts and told me it was mine to do with as I pleased. I tried very carefully to remove the skin with my fangs and claws, thinking Zen would like if for his collection. I botched the effort, and punctured the skin many times, but still I presented him with my paltry effort. There was an expression of shock on his face, as though he never expected such a thing from me. Why? Because I’m an animal? That doesn’t seem fair._

* * *

 

Zen had been doing his best to avoid Lursa, though it was impossible with how often he was in and out of the stables. Finally she cornered him and smacked him upside the head, telling him she _did_ understand the definition of a one-night-stand. Once he realized they were on the same page, the awkwardness disappeared, mostly. Maybe he’d see if she wanted another roll in the hay his last night in town. In the mean time he’d come across a gorgeous lady troll by the name of Murukai. His first instinct was to go chasing after her too, but that could only end in disaster and catfights. The dilemma was solved when she informed him she was married to the local weaponsmith, a very large orc by the name of Dagrun Ragehammer whom Zen had no interest in tangling with. Sexual tension-issues resolved, he was only too happy to have another Darkspear to reminisce with.

While Zen had been born when the Darkspear still lived in Stranglethorn Vale, Murukai was a little bit younger and had been born on the Echo Isles, after the great battle with the Sea Witch. That episode had cemented his healthy dislike for Naga, and his unwavering loyalty to Vol’jin and Thrall. Instead of migrating to the isles with the rest of the tribe, Zen made straight for Orgimmar to join the Horde Army. He had fought at the Battle of Mt. Hyjal, right beside the night elves, and while he wouldn’t say he liked the Kal-dorei, he hated to see the devastation wrought upon their lands. Less than a year later, the Scourge arose and Arthas turned icy Litch King. For ten years, Zen was a good Horde soldier. He went where he was told, fought whom he was pointed at. His skills were such that he was an invaluable asset on raids, his arrows always finding their mark. He wasn’t too bad with a blade either. At that point he had a whole slew of pets under his control. When the Litch King fell, Zen decided he’d had enough. He was tired of the military life and wished to live a more peaceful existence on his own, no one to order him here, there and everywhere to fight this foe and that. So he released all his pets but Lar’ja and disappeared into the wilds of the world. For over two years now he had wandered and hunted, and couldn’t be happier.

After reminiscing with Murukai for a while, she proposed a Naga hunt. It had been quite some time since he’d had a crack at the aquatic beasts and was eager for a rematch. It would be good experience for Laur-ke, though he intended for her to stay on the periphery of the battle since she wasn’t up to full strength yet. She’d surprised Zen more than once with her intellect, ability and drive to please. He was certain that she was well on her way to being fluent in Zandali, quite the feat for any pet, and was readily learning Orcish as well. Though she seemed to turn her nose up at the harsh language, which he found endlessly amusing. She shocked the fel out of him just the day before when she’d attempted to skin a squirrel with her teeth. He’d _never_ had a pet do anything like it. They all just killed and ate what they caught, or let him skin and butcher it first if that was the object. It was simply the strangest thing in the world that an animal would attempt something so…civilized. There really was more to this saber than met the eye.

He snapped his attention back to Murukai, who was describing how she wanted to approach the Naga lair to the north. Apparently she had a friend coming in to help as well. Between the three of them and their respective pets and mounts, she hoped to take out a good number of the creatures. I certainly helped that there was a bounty on them. Earning a bit of gold on the side was always a welcome proposition.

“Would you mind being a model of sorts for me,” Zen asked her, once they’d hashed out their initial attack plan.

“Um, ok,” she replied, cocking her head in confusion.

“Com’ere Luar-ke,” Zen called. The saber padded over in her graceful way. He just positioned Murukai where he wanted her, before directing his gaze to his pet.

“Now girlie, to want to show you how you need to attack Naga to inflict some damage. Those critters are about Muru’s size here, maybe a bit bigger, but have tails like a fish,” he indicated with a sweep of his hand from her waist to the sand. “Some of them have more than two arms. You’re going to have to watch out for the spines. The best places for you to grab’em will be the throat,” he mock strangled Muru as she rolled her eyes, “or by the end of their tails. If you get the tail, be sure to drag’em backwards, get them flat on the ground, and then one of us can take their head off.” He proceeded to show her several maneuvers he would likely employ, and how she could aid him. “Got that my girlie?” Luar-ke purred her assent. Zen gave her a nod and turned back to Muru. Luar-ke saw her opening and skirted around behind him. As gently as possible she wrapped her fangs around his ankle. With a quick close of her mouth and a yank Zen went sprawling on his stomach, tusks embedded in the sand. Muru was doubled over in mirth and even Lar’ja was chittering in reptile amusement. Zen yanked his tusks free, spitting out sand, and spun around ready to pounce. Laur-ke was already loping down the beach tail wagging in a taunt. “Ooo, you’re gonna regret that. I’m gonna get you, damn cat,” Zen roared as he took chase.


	8. The Naga

**Chapter 8: The Naga**

_Tomorrow morning we go to fight the Naga-creatures. I admit I am very excited. I can remember fighting nothing but the bear-men, and that was hardy “fighting,” however my body thrums in anticipation as though it remembers the thrill of battle. Was there a time that I fought before? Perhaps beside someone other than Zen? The voice neither confirms nor denies. We’ve been to see Muru’s husband, the weaponsmith, where Zen had him craft an armored collar for me. Apparently it will protect my vulnerable throat from spines and teeth. It’s very beautiful , with fine scrolling patterns that remind me of Zen’s tattoos  but feels strange and heavy about my neck. Zen promises I won’t have to wear it except when we’re fighting. I suppose I can live with that. We’re now standing in front of the store while Zen and Muru confer. The sunset is lovely this evening, all fiery reds and oranges like the forge at our backs._

_A shriek from above. I look to the sky and see a large, winged shape descending toward us. The creature spirals slowly, riding the wind currents, until the last moments when it plummets to the ground like a stone, shaking the earth beneath my feet. A big red stone, not so dissimilar from Lar’ja, except with wings. I am so distracted by the flying reptile that at first I miss its passenger. When I finally notice him though, I am struck still as a statue. The voice, which had receded to the recesses of my mind comes roaring back to the front. He has pale skin, golden like the sand on the beach. Long black hair frames a refined face free of tusks, and cascades around long delicate ears. His hands sport five slender fingers, and I suspect his feet do as well. He is dressed in thick armor, which lends bulk to his otherwise lithe, but muscular frame. The voice has become a loud drone in my mind. It’s hasn’t been this loud in days. Actually, I don’t think it’s ever been this loud. Stop buzzing already and just tell me what the problem is!_

_Obviously the voice is upset about the creature before me. It must be something very important._ Dorei, dorei, sin’dorei… _the voice begins to chant. Is that supposed to mean something to me? Yet there is something so familiar about him. Not him personally, I’m certain I’ve never encountered this “sin’dorei” in my life, but something… Why can’t you be more specific, voice? He dismounts and greets Muru with a hug and Zen with a firm handshake. They’re speaking in the ugly Orcish. I catch about every fourth word. The sin’dorei glances my way, then turns, eyes wide in surprise to take me in fully. They glow green, his eyes, the way mine glow silver. I catch bits of what Zen is saying, explaining about me and how he found me. I’m always a curiosity it seems. Why though? Others here have pets. What makes me such an oddity? The sin’dorei comes closer, scrutinizing. The voice is giving me that warning buzz again._ Danger _.  But it’s done that with every creature we’ve met thus far. I think I’ll go back to ignoring it._

_“Luar-ke, this is Calarin Lightfall. He’s a Blood Elf,” Zen tells me in Zandali. Blood Elf. I recognize the first word, but not the latter. Any friend of Zen’s is a friend of mine, though. I purr and rub my head against the proffered, five-fingered hand. An image flashes through my mind of an identical hand, only purple, gently stroking my hair. It so fleeting I brush it off as my imagination. Zen walks me back to the stable and gives me a good scratching before making his way to the inn and his colleagues. I would much prefer to stay with my friend and listen in on their conversation, but such is not my lot. My dinner is waiting for me. As I eat the delicate fillets of meat and fish, I contemplate the strange reaction of the voice and what it could possibly mean. There are just so many blanks yet to be filled in. Not for the first time I find my lack of memories frustrating. I must have had a life before the furbolgs, but what? Why can’t I remember? I ponder these mysteries until I am lulled to sleep by Lar’ja’s rumbling snores._

* * *

 

The dawn was just a faint glow on the horizon when the party set out north; Zen on Lar’ja and Muru on her own raptor, Luar-ke loping along out front. Calarin soared above them on his proto-drake. The adventurers had had a nice meal the previous evening, and a few rounds of ale, as Calarin was brought up to speed. Zen typically found blood elves to be haughty, elves in general actually, but this one was quite pleasant and without artifice, ready to be friends with everyone he met. He was a paladin and had befriended Muru several years earlier when she’d been doing some training in Silvermoon City. He certainly had a troll’s ribald sense of humor, and that in and of itself, made Zen like him.

According to Muru, the Naga lair was a three hour ride up the coast. It was just mid-morning when they arrived, and the sea-abominations weren’t likely to make an appearance until close to dusk. They spent the remaining hours of the day scouting the area and finalizing their plan of attack. Zen laid out traps in such a way as to funnel the creatures into an open area ringed with the long ruined fortifications of some lost city. As the sun made its descent, they took up their assigned positions, Zen on high, ready to rain down arrows from above with Laur-ke perched at his side. Muru, Calarin and the three mounts were hidden below. They’d lit a fire in the center of the clearing to draw the Naga out. He could feel the nightsaber practically vibrating at his side. That alone told him she was no stranger to battle. Of course, in all likelihood that meant she was trained to fight his kind. Had she been to any of the major fronts? Warsong? Northrend even? He’d never know. And it didn’t explain her easy comfort with Horde races. No, she couldn’t have been a battle pet. That sort of hatred would have been ingrained in her. No stint with the furbolgs would have erased entrenched training like that.

Laur-ke was quite the mystery. One he was going to have to puzzle over later as the squelching sound of wet fish-skin over stone reached his ears. He placed a hand on her shoulder, a silent acknowledgement that he knew they were coming and she needed to wait. Laur-ke stilled under his touch, but her focus didn’t waver. Across the clearing, two Naga entered the light. They chittered back and forth, gesturing with their bulky arms, the one waving around his trident. The other, a four-armed female, shrieked back in the direction they’d come, no doubt calling others to aid in the investigation. There were five in the clearing when the first trap was sprung; the loud boom and accompanying wail heralding the beginning of the battle. Muru and Calarin leapt into the fray, swords slashing, while Zen’s arrows brought silent death to those they struck. One beast shoved its way past, making for the hunter. Zen, occupied with covering the others, felt Laur-ke launch herself at her prey. He watched his pet from the corner of his eye, her feral grace mesmerizing. She hit the sea creature in the chest, bowling it over, claws sinking deep. Her dagger-like fangs sank into its throat, spilling hot blood down her gullet as she crushed its neck.

Immediately she was on to the next, which was engaged with Calarin, effortlessly dodging a swipe from its spiked tail. She grabbed the offending appendage and hauled back, just as Zen had taught her, causing the fiend to fall to its belly whence the blood elf separated its head from its shoulders. The three mounts had closed in from behind, herding as they attacked, slashing and ripping with tooth and claw. His arrows spent, Zen dropped from his perch and entered the melee, his own blade clashing with a gold trident. The Naga held her own, pushing back against him, using her free set of hands to swipe at his belly. Zen leapt out of range, calling to Luar-ke to take her from behind. There was a bit of fumbling as they worked out a fighting rhythm, but soon they were acting as one, an orchestrated dance of death.

The final body count was twenty-two, with only a few scratches among their team. Laur-ke had a small puncture on her hip where a tail spike had caught her, while Zen had a few parallel claw marks running down his bicep. They were all huffing and grinning at their success, slapping one another on the back. Zen dropped to a couch and pulled Laur-ke into a big troll-ish hug, ruffling her fur and scratching around her ears.

“You, my girl, are a wonder! I am suitably impressed.” Laur-ke, caught up in the moment, couldn’t help herself and licked his cheek. Zen just smiled like the sun and hugged her some more. The crew took their trophies from the kills and retired further down the shoreline for the evening. Around the fire, they recounted the battle and passed around a flask, laughing and joking long into the night. Zen made himself quite comfortable with Laur-ke as a pillow. The saber didn’t seem to mind and soon the rhythmic throb of her purring, which soothed from head to toe, lulled him into a pleasant sleep.


	9. The Argument

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been aiming for Luar-ke’s POV to show how her personality is developing, or reappearing I should say, as she’s healing and her memories are ever so slowing starting to come back. Is that how it’s coming across? Also, the first person who can figure out the ruse behind Laur-ke and Lar’ja’s names gets a cookie, or a gold star. Or maybe a cookie with gold stars in it.

**Chapter 9: The Argument**

_We’re on the road today and I’m ignoring the troll. If I could speak, I’d be giving him the silent treatment. I’m so angry I want to hiss and spit at him, rake my claws down this back, leave a few scars of my own. I cannot believe the bastard mated with that orc again! And then, to come stumbling into my stall in the morning, hung-over, reeking of her like it means nothing to me. How dare he! I have feelings too! But did he take those into consideration? Of course not! Because he’s just some horny, bloody troll who can’t keep it in his pants._

_I glance at Lar’ja. He doesn’t seem perturbed in the least. What’s the matter with me? Why does it even matter who the asshole fucks? Elune, help me, I’m starting to curse like a troll now too. Damn him. Am I jealous? Is that what this aching in my gut is? And for that matter, who is Elune and why did I just call on her, him, it, for aid? I’m so confused._

An hour later …

_We’ve passed what, three springs? And he still hasn’t stopped to wash that foul stench off?!_

Another hour later …

 _Praise Elune, whoever you are, another spring. Let me just get a drink. Oh good, the prick is getting a drink too. That’s right, just lean over a little more._ **SPLASH**. _That was just too easy_. _Oh dear, he looks pissed. Really pissed. Wow, did his eyes just go completely red? I had no idea they could do that. Good thing he’s still kind of drunk, he’ll never catch me. I think now would be a good time to go hunting. Alone._

A few hours more…

_I can see the firelight through the trees ahead, and blessedly, the scent of clean troll in lieu of orc tramp. I creep up silently to scope out the situation, finding Zen relaxing cross-legged beside the flames, whetstone in hand, sharpening his dagger. Hmm, that’s not reassuring. I wonder if he’s planning on skinning ME?  I’ll never know if I don’t take a chance. Hopefully he’s forgiven me now that he’s dry. I’m not really keen on getting stabbed tonight. I enter the ring of firelight, but he doesn’t even turn to look until I lay my offering at his knee; a fat young boar. I guess my stealth skills aren’t as good as I thought. He stares at it for a few minutes, too long… “You can breathe again, girlie; I ain’t gonna make a rug out of you.” Oh right, sweet oxygen! “I don’t know what’s had your tail in a kink all day, but I’ll accept your apology.” Seriously? Is he really that obtuse?! I want to smack him and remind him I’m the one that really deserves the apology. I thought our relationship meant something more. Ok, breathe:  in, out. Count to ten and let it go. Take the high road.  It’s not like I can explain myself anyway. He only sees me as his pet; just an animal. Honestly I don’t even know why I’ve been so worked up about it. It’s just that I feel… kind of… more._

* * *

 

He couldn’t help but think that Ashenvale had the most beautiful nights of any part of Azeroth. At least any part that he’d traveled. The muted greens and purples of the foliage fading into the mist while fireflies created a visual lullaby; and above it all the deep blue night sky filled with endless numbers of stars. Zen snuggled up against his furry, purring pillow. It was becoming a habit they both seemed to enjoy. Once the bloodlust had worn off after his impromptu bath earlier, he’d nearly panicked fearing he’d driven her off for good. He made camp soon there after, determined to wait, as long as it took, for her to come back to him. In his heart, Zen was sure their bond couldn’t be broken by one tantrum on his part, but still the icy fingers of doubt crept up his spine. For the life of him he couldn’t figure out what had possessed Laur-ke to knock him ass over tusks into the pond. She’ been in a snit about something all day, but honestly he’d been too hung over to care. His heart sighed in relief when he sensed her creeping up to the camp, and he’d spent several moments quietly contemplating the kill she had brought. Was she apologizing? He looked at her then and could see the anxiety written across her beautiful feline face. Would he ever understand this female?

Now, their friendship patched up, it was back to business. Zen’s plan was for their little party to skirt the edge of Ashenvale, along the border of the Stonetalon Mountains. This would ideally prevent them from crossing paths with any Alliance, particularly Sentinels, while making their way to Malaka’jin and then Thunder Bluff, whence they could take the Zepplin to Orgrimmar to sell the skins they’d collected. It was a trip of several weeks, barring any complications, and he was looking forward to the solitude. Well, solitude coupled with the silent company of his two best companions.

Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t mind stumbling across the occasional Alliance operative and summarily dispatching them. He was a dutiful Horde member after all. Truth be told though, he was concerned about Laur-ke’s reaction. What would happen if she saw a Night Elf? Would she leave him? Turn on him? The very thought that she might revert to viewing him as the enemy was like a knife in his gut. She could dump him in every pond they came across so long as she stayed by his side. He’d never felt a bond so strongly with any pet, even Lar’ja, and yet it was the strangest pet relationship he’d ever had. With his previous pets, he’d been able to form a sort of mental connection, allowing him to understand their basic thoughts. That was not the case at all with his nightsaber and it puzzled him. While they did not have a direct cognitive connection, it felt as though they were one being. It was like they spoke a language only each other could hear, allowing them to hunt and fight as a single entity, yet no words were spoken, no thoughts specifically shared. It was uncanny. He’d come to the conclusion that her bond with her previous master must somehow be preventing him from forming the usual connection. It was the only explanation that made sense.

Zen though back to his childhood, when he’d first known he wanted to be a hunter. It was his uncle that inspired him. Un’gar was a big blue troll with a shock of red hair, stereotypical Darkspear, with a fine set of tusks and an eye patch. He’s come and gone throughout Zen’s early life, never sticking around for more than a week or two at a time. Zen’s mother tolerated her brother’s nomadic ways, but was dead set against any of her children taking up after him. Of course, her disapproval made it just the forbidden fruit Zen craved. He was ten, when, during one of Un’gar’s unannounced visits, he took to following his uncle, determined to watch and learn his trade. Of course the older troll knew the boy was there the entire time. He put on a show for his nephew, creatively killing a variety of creatures, from lions to crockolisks, working in perfect concert with his raptor and lava spider.

“You can come out now, boy,” he called as he yanked the teeth out a fat crock’s maw. Zen’s mouth hung open in shock. He was so sure he hadn’t been seen, having practiced for months stalking his parents and trailing other tribe members. Finally the youngster plucked up his courage and dropped from the tree he’d been hiding in, bracing himself for a good tongue-lashing. Except his uncle only laughed and roughed up his unruly blue mane. “Smile lad, I ain’t mad at ya. You wanna be a hunter then?” At the boy’s shy nod, Un’gar just laughed again. “I’ll be happy to teach ya, just don’t be squealin’ to your ma or she’ll skin me alive.” Zen just nodded vigorously, smiling so big around his budding tusks that his face hurt. From then on, Un’gar had an eager pupil, and the young troll spent every hour between school and chores learning from the elder troll. Un’gar gave him lots for “homework” when he was off traveling as well. By the time of the Sea Witch’s attack, Zen already had Lar’ja and was far more skilled than the other young trolls in the tribe. His mother of course found out, and never did forgive her brother, though he was still allowed to visit. And here he was now, incredibly skilled and successful at his chosen trade, with the best pets the Loa could provide, even if one was a cheeky cat who pushed  him into ponds.

The next week or so of their journey was spent leisurely making their way along the edge of the forest, typically walking in the morning and hunting in the afternoon before making camp. Hunting with Laur-ke was nothing short of a thrill. She was so graceful, so in tune. Zen would talk to her as though she were another person and he had the distinct feeling that she understood everything he said, and would have shared her opinions readily if she could. Sometimes he forgot she was merely his pet. If he was truly, deeply honest with himself, and he absolutely wasn’t, he wished she was a woman. He’d never questioned his bachelor lifestyle, always convinced he was as content as he’d ever be, but sometimes, just sometimes, he’d find he wanted more. Laur-ke was everything, ok, almost everything, he’d want in a woman. At least a woman he’d be willing to claim as his own. She was beautiful, intelligent and gentle. A fierce fighter and skilled hunter. And she’d proven time and again that she had a sense of humor to match his own. Why couldn’t he find a woman like her? For that matter, why couldn’t she be a woman? Loa help him, he _was not_ falling for his cat.


	10. The Hunting Camp

**Chapter 10: The Hunting Camp**

_It’s a warm summer evening in Ashenvale. The sun set not long ago and the night-blooming flowers raise their faces to the moonlight. I stand nude on a balcony in the trees above, waters of the lake below shining like a great eye. From this vantage point I can see the sacred gates and the shadowy figures that pass through them.  I sense him behind me before warm arms wrap around my waist. Smooth, soft lips caress the slope of my neck, tasting the delicate skin. I lean back against a solid chest, molding my body to his, my glowing eyes closing in pleasure. He growls low, pressing his hardness against me as he nips my shoulder with delicate fangs. I tilt my head and capture his eyes with my own._

_Those orbs are amber mirrors set in dusky purple skin a few shades darker than mine, with forest green hair cascading over this shoulders to mingle with my own ivory. I attack those smooth lips, conveying my want with force, sliding my tongue along the seam to demand entry. He enthusiastically surrenders to my offensive. Soft hands caress my back, leaving tiny trails of fire, dipping lower and diving between as he captures a dark nipple, nibbling in ways that cause me to gasp. I feel him smile against my peaked flesh when his wayward fingers find the wetness between my thighs. Oh yes, I am quite ready for him._

_I pull away and saunter to the low bed, swinging my hips in the way I know he cannot resist. Those same soft hands, still slick with my essence, grip my hips and toss me onto the feathery cushion. Before I can even sit up he is between my legs, attacking my core with lips, tongue and teeth; teasing my nub and plumbing my depths. I am lost in the pleasure of it, moans tearing from my throat like wild beasts. Soon long, slender fingers are reaching inside me, as though my release is a physical thing he can pull from my body. And perhaps it is, for I am gasping and writhing in ecstasy, my inner walls pulling those digits in, wanting to own them and keep them. Ahh, but there are other treasures to be had. I pull him up with a fistful of those sea-green locks, crashing my lips against his, tasting the delicate vintage that is myself on his tongue. Then he is sliding inside in one long thrust, filling the void as I cry out his name. Alathdrus!_

_He sets a tortuous pace, pulling out so slowly I can feel every fraction of an inch. Pushing back in at a rate that has me begging; faster, please, faster. He ignores my pleas. He will draw this out until I am boneless and at his mercy. I lean up, catching a pebbled nipple between my teeth, biting hard enough to break his rhythm and earn a gasp. I hook my foot around his knee and press my advantage, flipping us until I am the one in control. I ride him, setting the tempo, bouncing my hips as I climb the mountain again. My eyes are shut, senses turned inward to feel every quiver, every stretch and tingle. Large, hot hands grasp my breasts, calloused skin scraping the fine flesh in delightful ways. That can’t be right… I open my eyes and see red. Burgundy eyes, glowing like coals, blue gray skin, ivory tusks that frame my face. Rippling muscles clench beneath my palms, and I am filled beyond anything I’ve ever known. One rough hand grips my hip and the other the back of my neck. He thrusts up into me at a frantic pace. Such power… I can’t think beyond the bliss. There is only the place we are joined and the lightening radiating throughout my body from it. I’m screaming! I’m falling! I’m screaming, Zen…_

_I startle awake, panting as though I’ve run miles and miles. Sleep disturbed, a blue head lifts from my side. It is questioning me, speaking in soothing tones, but I can’t understand the words! My brain won’t process them. My skin is aflame. I wish to roll on the ground, put out the fire, but a touch is all it takes. A warm blue hand strokes down my spine and the fire cools. The hand retreats and the fire flares. “Shh, my Luar-ke. It’s alright, it’s ok.” The words make sense now, they cool me like his touch. Please, I beg. Please, whatever you do, don’t let me burn..._

* * *

 

Zen was jolted awake by Laur-ke’s twitching and whimpering. _Whatever she is dreaming, it doesn’t seem pleasant_. At his touch she starts, whining as though in pain. Her muscles are tense and shaking, every hair on end. She struggles against him, eyes frantic and unfocused. _What on Azeroth_ … “Calm down girlie! It’s just me. You’re ok. Nothin’ here to hurt you.” Her silver eyes remained panicked and unseeing. “Shh, my Luar-ke. It’s alright, it’s ok,” he crooned, petting and caressing her to calmness. It seemed ages before the feral look in her eyes slipped away. Zen continued to stroke her soft ivory fur, whispering nonsense to her, drawing her back from whatever nightmare realm had tried to claim her. The great cat practically climbed into his lap, keeping as much of her body touching his as possible. She did not purr and her body continued to tremble, but she was no longer the wild creature of before. Any time Zen stopped petting her, she’d whine so pitifully and press closer to him that he’d resume him ministrations, unable to bear her in this state.

 _What kind of dream could cause a reaction like this?!_ In all the years he’d had pets, Zen had seen them dream of running, and hunting, legs twitching and low, muffled growls disturbing his rest, but never had he seen a reaction like this. She was like a child who’d been chased through the Felwood by a pack of demons. _Was it a nightmare about the furbolgs?_ _Why after all this time though?_ It made no sense.

The sun had breached the horizon by the time Luar-ke was calm enough that he could extricate himself from her. She still had a haunted look in her eyes, but at least she was no longer shaking. Zen rubbed his eyes and stretched the pins and needles from his cramped limbs. _So much for a good night’s sleep_. Lar’ja was well rested of course. The raptor had a talent for sleeping through anything, including a particularly memorable attack by murlocs. They’d passed into the Stonetalons some days earlier, the lush greenery of the forest giving way to the thin pines and red sandstone of the mountains. Despite having spent a fair chunk of his life in hot dry regions, Zen had never really adapted. He was a jungle troll after all. Heat he could handle, but the dryness made his skin itch. If he ever did settle, it would definitely be somewhere moist and fertile. The touch of soft spotted fur shook him from his musings to find Luar-ke rubbing against his legs like a giant housecat, purring loud enough to vibrate his knees.

For the next three days, she spent every moment possible in contact with his skin. If he sat, she’d start grooming him like a cub, licking up his shoulders and neck with her sandpaper tongue, or attempting to lie in his lap again. If he was standing, she was rubbing her body against his legs and tucking her head beneath his hand. Zen was at a loss, and it was getting damn annoying. He took to riding Lar-ja just to get a moment’s peace, and to save the skin on his ears which was now rubbed raw. Good thing they were almost to Malaka’jin and his Uncle Un’gar. _If anyone knows what the fel is wrong with her, that old troll will._

The next day Zen praised the Loa when the bone and hide huts of the small village came into view. It was little more than a hunting camp, though occasionally used as a base to launch raids on Stonetalon Peak. Or a place to interrogate captured night elves. He called out greetings to the troll guards at the perimeter, jogging Lar’ja up to the raptor pen before dismounting. Like magic a cat was attached to his knees. Zen groaned.

Nearby, several large carcasses hung from a rack in various stages of butchering, a rather fetching troll woman wielding the knife. Normally, after several weeks on the road, Zen would have made getting into her pants a priority, but for some reason today he found that desire absent. _Maybe tomorrow_. Yellow smoke rose from the main lodge and the sound of chanting drifted from within. _Witch Doctor Jin’Zil must be up to something. If Un’gar can’t figure out what’s wrong with Luar-ke, maybe he’ll have some voodoo potion that can restore her sanity, or mine._ Right on cue, a tall blue figure with a shock of red hair hailed him from a nearby hut.

“So ya finally saw fit to come visit ole Un’gar ya ungrateful brat.”

“Hey Uncle,” Zen called, attempting to walk his way without tripping over a Luar-ke.

“What, by the ancestors, you be doin’ with an elf’s sabercat wrapped around your shins?”

Zen absently rubbed at the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I was hopin’ you could help me with that.”

“Come on then,” he ushered troll and feline into his home. “We’ll have us a smoke and you can tell me all about your pussy problem.” Zen just cringed as the old troll bellowed a laugh and slapped him on the back. Some things never changed.

The hut was a simple affair; permanent, but barely. The walls were stitched hide over poles, encircling a central firepit. A few voodoo carvings and Un’gar’s weapons were all the décor needed. They lounged on a pile of furs, passing a long pipe back and forth while Zen explained how he’d ended up with a night elf pet. Every five minutes or so he was forced to shove Laur-ke off. She was persistent in her plans to groom him and apparently right now it was impossible to hurt her feelings.

“I’m not gonna have any skin left she keeps this up,” Zen griped.

“I think it’s cute how she’s doting on you,” the elder troll snickered. Zen just rolled his eyes.

“What am I supposed to do with her like this? I can’t hunt. I can’t even sit down for Loas’ sake! Laur-ke, will you _get offa me_! Go groom Un’gar or somethin’.”

“Oh, she ain’t got no interest in me,” Un’gar stated with authority. “She be a pretty thing though. And quite the catch, if you’re to be believed.” Zen smiled a bit at that, thinking it was the truth. Despite her current antics, he would never willing give her up.

“So what’s wrong with her? Could she have picked up a curse somewhere?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be worryin’ about it. It’ll be over in a few days.” Un’gar leaned back and puffed out a few smoke rings.

“Really?” Zen looked equal parts relieved and ecstatic. “You know what it is then?”

“It’s simple boy. She be in heat. And since I don’t see any eligible sabers around here, that makes you the sole object of her affections.”

Zen groaned. “I think I’d prefer her cursed.” Laur-ke just resumed licking his ear.


	11. The Festival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dearest readers, I apologize for the delay. Life, work and my other story distracted me. I have gone back and revised the first 10 chapters. You don't NEED to reread them, though I'd be thrilled if you would. First time readers, I hope you're enjoying the story!

**Chapter 11: The Festival**

_Why is there never a rock to crawl under when you need one?! I ’m mortified, absolutely mortified. What got into me? WHO got into me!?! I can’t even look at Zen, I’m so embarrassed. What must he think of me? It’s like some demon possessed my body and used me as a puppet, a very horny, sex-crazed puppet. In fact, I think that’s exactly what happened because I can’t for the life of me begin to explain my dreams. Sweet Elune, the dreams! I was someone else. But it felt so real, like memories, not my imagination run amok. How could I even begin to know what mating with an elf feels like? Whoever’s eyes I was looking through certainly wasn’t a saber. And the male, he was so strange; physically like the blood elf, but larger and colored differently. And Zen… I’m thrilled my fur hides the heated blush of my skin. I can’t think of him like that! He’s my master, my friend, a completely different species! There can never be more than that between us. And yet I want more. I crave it! I want what I had in the dreams. Goddess, I can still feel his rough hands on my smooth-skinned breasts. I can still feel him inside me. Get a grip, Luar-ke!_

_We will be leaving for some new place called Thunder Bluff in the morning. I have heard Zen and Un’gar discussing the town and its denizens. Tauren they are called. Yet another new creature for me to meet. The voice has all but disappeared. It gave up trying to warn me of such dangers since I never listened to it. Now I simply enjoy the thrill of adventure and discovery. There’s a familiarity to the sensation, one I must have known, enjoyed, in my life before. I like it, the hum of anticipation; this rush of the unknown. Perhaps I traveled much in my former life. At the same time it saddens me to leave this place. Un’gar has been very kind to me. I’m still uncertain of his exact relation to Zen, not sire, but I can both see and smell the shared blood. Once I was feeling… better… Un’gar took us hunting, along with his spider pet, Anansi. At first I found her many eyes and legs disturbing, but she has grown on me. I particularly enjoyed the prank she played on Zen, which ended with him so tangled in her webs Un’gar had to cut him free. The elder troll takes great delight in tormenting his relation, though I can see the love they bear each other._

_Now that my mind is less… occupied… I can actually spend some time dissecting the new details I have learned of my master from one who knows him well. Un’gar spoke several times of Zen’s family; mother, father, two sisters and their children. Any mention of them would upset Zen, but Un’gar would press on regardless. Apparently they were all killed in an Alliance raid, composed mainly of night elves, while Zen was away fighting in some distant land called Northrend. In one bloody moment he lost everyone he loved, except Un’gar. It’s obvious he blames himself for not being there to protect them. The older troll expressed his surprise that Zen would want to keep me, seeing as I’m a night elf pet. I’m certain this cannot be. I could never have belonged to a race that would slaughter an innocent family like that, could I? I’m glad I don’t remember! What horrid creatures these night elves must be. I’ve yet to encounter one, but when I do, I will surely mete out vengeance for Zen’s family. Here comes Zen with dinner. I really prefer the taste of his skin though…  Bad thoughts! Stop it!_

* * *

 

He’d forgotten about the festival. So many weeks in the wild had him loosing track of time. They’d arrived in Thunder Bluff early that afternoon to find the whole plateau city decorated for the Lunar Festival and its inhabitants in a tizzy of preparations. There would be a fireworks show after the sun had set, which the guards had promised would be spectacular. “Better than Moonglade for sure!” Zen had never really celebrated this particular holiday. It’s origins with the night elves (and the furbolgs, for that matter) made it rather unpalatable to him. Sure, he was as glad as the next citizen that the Burning Legion had been defeated, oh a few thousand years ago, but this event was mostly for, by and about the Druids, and he quite honestly didn’t have more than a passing acquaintance with any. Unfortunately, they were going to be forced to participate as the next Zeppelin wasn’t scheduled to arrive until the morning. Thanks to the influx of revelers, the inn was full to bursting with not a broom closet to be had. It looked like they’d be camping out for one more night.

Zen had been concerned about how Luar-ke would be received, and how she would react to the crowds. Certainly, thus far she had proven to be easy going, but a major city in the midst of a major celebration was an entirely different animal. As expected, they received a lot of pointed stares, but no one had yet called him out on her presence. Laur-ke, for her part, seemed fascinated by everything she laid eyes on, beginning with their trip up the elevator to Lower Rise. She was wise enough to stick close to him and Lar’ja, but outwardly projected an aura of confidence. She continued to make him proud. He knew, however, that Orgrimmar, being the Horde capital city and chief military hub, would be extremely dangerous for his pet, and consequently him. He had a plan though. After booking their passage on the Zeppelin, Zen set about finding a shaman.

The trio made their way across the wide rope bridge to Mid Rise and were pointed in the direction of a large hut by a friendly female tauren. She looked askance at the saber, but said nothing, just as everyone else had. The occupant of said hut was a huge male tauren, with graying braids that brushed his knees and an imposing set of intricately painted horns.

“Salutations and best wishes on this Lunar Festival. How may I be of service Honored Hunter,” the creature asked after Zen’s greeting, his voice low and rich.

“Well, I be needin’ some ‘elp tuh make mah pet fit in ah bit betta. I has an idea, an I ‘ear you jus da shaman tuh pull it off.”

“Really,” the bovine looked intrigued. “Then I look forward to hearing more of this odd pet and how I might provide a solution.” Zen proceeded to relay his story.

Luar-ke, at this point, had wandered toward the edge of a wide open area where a group of young tauren druids were practicing their skills. She sat, alert, eyes never leaving the scene before her. At one point a female spoke a chant and was briefly engulfed in a cloud of white light, which dissipated to reveal a huge brown bear. The saber nearly startled out of her skin. It took several calls before Zen was able to grab her attention, so focused was she on the magical display. The large feline paced back toward her master, casting glances over her shoulder at the spectacle behind.

“Dis be mah girl,” Zen said, scratching Laur-ke’s ears as she sat down beside him. She purred at his display of affection and looked up at him with adoring eyes. “So yuh tink yuh ‘ave som’ting dat will do da trick?”

The old tauren reached out a huge furry hand and gently cupped Luar-ke’s muzzle, bringing her gaze up to meet his. He looked deeply and gave a warm chuckle. “Did you never think this nightsaber might be a Druid?”

Zen glanced at his pet, then back at the shaman, shaking his head. “Na, mon. She be ‘eld priz’ner fo’ months. No Druid put up wit dat. Been wit me couple months mo’. If she be ah Druid, she sho’ ‘erself long beh’fo now. ‘Sides, all dem kal-dorei Druid’s got am’bah eyes. ‘Er’s is silvah.”

“Then that must be the case.” The tauren gave a small smile, as though he was amused by an inside joke, his brown bovine eyes glittering. “Well, I hope this will do the trick for you,” he stated, releasing Laur-ke and handing Zen two small clay pots.

“I tank yah much, mon,” Zen replied.

As the tauren returned to his hut he paused and turned back to the strange pair. “Allow me a parting word of wisdom. Sometimes the heart sees what the mind is blind to.” And then he was gone, ducking through the darkened entry, leaving a puzzled troll and saber in his wake.

Later that night, after the sky had darkened and the moons come out to play, a keen observer might have wondered at the odd sight of a blue-gray troll, sitting with his legs hanging over the edge of the bluff, watching the sky light up in a riot of colored lights; and perched at his side an ivory, spotted cat, with night elf tattoos, her glowing eyes wide in wonder and posture proud, with her shoulder gently touching his.


	12. The Zeppelin

**Chapter 12: The Zeppelin**

_I am flying; we are flying, high up in the clouds. I am perched at the prow of the Zeppelin, the wind running like fingers through my fur, plastering my whiskers against my cheeks. It’s exhilarating! The Barrens pass below us, an endless savannah of golden grass, broken only by the occasional tree or stone outcrop. It is beautiful from the heavens._

_“Laur-ke, for the last time, will you come down from there?! You’re making me nervous!” I glance back at Zen, who is plastered to the wall of the central cabin, as far from the open air as possible. His blue-gray skin has a distinct greenish tinge. He scowls, no doubt at the amusement me sees reflected in my eyes. Imagine, my fearsome troll hunter done in by heights! I turn back to the aerial vista and ignore his pleas. Just because he’s afraid doesn’t mean I have to miss this opportunity. I have much to think about with regards to Thunder Bluff. The city, or perhaps the people in it, awoke strange sensations within me. From the moment I set foot on the plateau, I felt certain that I had spent time in a place as large and vibrant before. The memories ticked at the edge of my mind. The Tauren seem strangely familiar as well, as though I have seen them before._

_Zen had mentioned earlier that he needed a disguise for me. Apparently I cannot be seen as myself in the city of Orgrimmar, where we fly to now. It happened while Zen spoke with a shaman about me.  I caught a scent on the air; elusive, indefinable, and addictive. I know this aroma, but I don’t know why. Following my nose, I came to an open area where a group of young tauren were doing… something. Suddenly, one was encased in a flash of white light, which dissipated to reveal not the bovine, but a huge bear! I felt a jolt of recognition. This was magic! The long forgotten voice in my head whispered it to me. These were Druids! I know this, about this, about druids. Why do I know about druids? Again I can feel the answers are just beyond my grasp. And then the memory is gone, fleeting as the scent that sparked it._

_Zen called to me and I reluctantly turned away. If only I had more time to watch, perhaps I could figure out a piece of this puzzle. My troll stood beside an aged bull, whose appearance was fierce but his demeanor kind. His huge hand was gentle as it cupped my face, his large brown eyes soft. He peered into me, into my soul; he was looking for something and the smile he gave me tells me he found it. I wish he would spell it out as I’d appreciate the insight. He says something to Zen about druids, but I am too mesmerized by the large brown orbs before me to pay attention. Then he looks away and the spell is broken. “Sometime the heart sees what the mind is blind to.” Those were the Tauren’s parting words. Zen seemed as confused by them as me._

_That night the sky was filled with exploding lights and the streets overflowing with song and dance. Once again, fleeting images of purple and blue elves, singing and dancing under a similarly lit evening sky passed through my mind. Zen, using the pots provided by the shaman, painted over my tattoos, hiding my origins, but not erasing them. I relished his touches, closing my eyes and purring, committing each moment to memory. If I cannot recall my past, I want to remember the details of this new life. Fill the void and never look back._

* * *

 

Spirits, he hated flying. He’d climb every tree in Ashenvale without a thought, but being this high above the ground, with no physical connection to it… turned his stomach is what it did. There was a very good reason he’d never wanted a winged mount. And there was Luar-ke, paws up on the balustrade, without a care in the word. _Damn cats and their perfect centers of gravity_. She’d ignored his every request to come back to the relative safety of the middle of the Zeppelin. No, she just _had_ to be contrary today. It was strange to see her without her markings. When he’d explained his idea to the shaman, of using paints to make her look like another kind of cat, the old Tauren had shaken his big head and said that less was more. Perhaps if he’d only planned to be in Orgrimmar a few hours, but for any lengthy stay, a complicated disguise would be that much more likely to fail or come off. So he settled for just covering her tattoos, painting her in ivory, and adding a few new purple spots. As much as he hated to admit it, looking at her now, he missed those markings, despite their genesis. They were a part of her, and he loved his Laur-ke the way she was. He’d love her a great deal more if she’d get down off that railing, though.

All too soon, though not nearly soon enough for Zen, the Zeppelin was docking at the landing tower, and they were standing before the gates of Orgrimmar. It felt an age since he’d been here, when in fact it had only been a few months. He could scare remember his life before the nightsaber was a part of it. The setting sun was bathing the city in shades of orange and gold. _Too late to hit the auction house._ Before they’d left Thunder Bluff, he’d sent a message ahead to his old comrade in arms, Raj’el. Normally he’d stay at an inn, made it easier to entertain females; but Zen wasn’t comfortable leaving Laur-ke in the public stables here, and he honestly hadn’t felt the typical urges for a while anyway. He hadn’t bothered to examine that little fact to date. Raj would no doubt be happy to put them up, and Laur-ke could stay close.

His old friend, whom he fought beside many a time in Northrend, now had a blacksmith shop just off the Drag, with surprisingly spacious apartments above. Before they passed through the gate, Zen paused and rummaged through one of the packs on Lar’ja, eventually tugging free Luar-ke’s collar with a mumbled curse. Both his companions looked askance at him. “Sorry girlie, I know you’re not a big fan, but it’s a whole lot safer for you to play the tamed pet.” The saber gave him a look of distaste, which she’d no doubt picked up from the raptor, but stretched her neck out regardless. Kneeling before her, he buckled on the heavy metal collar, which was engraved with his name, and gave her a good scratch under the chin. Holding both her cheeks between his palms, he stared deep into her eyes, “I wouldn’t know what to do if I lost you, so I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe, ok?” Laur-ke rumbled a loud purr and rubbed against his hand.

“All right then, let’s go find Raj.” Fifteen minutes later found them sanding in front of the aforementioned troll’s shop. The smithy was closed, but Zen called up at the window above. A bright blue troll with short, upturned tusks and a mohawk of green hair stuck his head out.

“Zen’jakar! You’re just in time for dinner! Go put that rapor of yours in the pen and come on up.” Doing as his friend suggested, he and Laur-ke were soon climbing a narrow set of stairs to a pleasant room with a kitchen area on one side and a lounge on the other. “It’s been far too long, brother,” Raj greeted Zen with a one-armed hug.

“It has my friend,” the blue-haired troll replied.

“And who is this pretty thing,” Raj asked, looking down at Laur-ke who was peeking around Zen’s legs. Without her tattoos, she appeared as a normal nightsaber. Still an odd choice of pet for a Horde-race hunter, but not nearly as shocking.

“Raj, this is Laur-ke. My new pet.”

“I sense a story there. Good thing I picked up a keg of ale; you can tell me all about it over dinner.” Sounded like a good plan to Zen. While he wouldn’t reveal the saber’s origins to an acquaintance, Raj was a good and trustworthy friend. For the next several hours the two trolls caught up over roast fowl and tankards, Laur-ke munching on the carcass at their feet. Raj was surprised to learn the details of how Zen had come into possession of his cat, and even more interested in her skills and their unusual bond. As a warrior, Raj had only a second hand understanding of the relationship between hunters and their pets, but he’d been in awe of his friend’s talents during the Northrend conflict, when Zen was in command of half a dozen pets at once, and could certainly appreciate Laur-ke’s prowess in melee combat.

“That’s quite the tale,” professed Raj, glancing down at the large feline sprawled half-asleep the rug. They sat in companionable silence for a bit, sipping their ale, both pleasantly buzzed by that point.

“How have things been here in Orgrimmar?” Zen asked after a while.

“Fairly quiet. Neither Thrall or Garrosh have been around much. Most of the troops are still out on the fronts. Mostly just youngsters in for training and those of us retired from the army.” Raj stood up and gathered their dishes, dumping them in a bucket of water in the kitchen. “There’s a contingent of unsavory sorts that have quite the underground economy going. The Kor’kron do their best to keep it in check, but there just aren’t enough of them here right now to make much of a difference.”

“Have you been out to Sen’jin recently?”

“Few weeks back. Visited my sister for a couple days; picked up some ore. Zalazane’s still being an asshole and causing problems. Vol’jin needs to take care of that sooner rather than later.” Raj spit into the bucket in disgust. “On that note, I’m off to bed. Got to open the shop bright and early. Make yourself at home. You heading to the auction tomorrow?” Zen grunted in the affirmative. “Well, I’ll gather some of the boys and you can take us all out for a drink tomorrow night then.” With a ribald laugh, Raj disappeared into his bedroom.

Laur-ke yawned widely, showing off her long saber fangs, causing Zen to give a tooth yawn in response. The troll made his way over to the lounge and flopped onto a pile of pillows, his well lubricated state leaving him asleep almost before he was horizontal. Luar-ke padded over and lay down beside him. Zen mumbled something in his sleep, throwing an arm over the saber and tugging her close like a giant stuffed animal. A melody of soft snores and rumbled purrs soon wafted into the night.


	13. The City

**Chapter 13: The City**

_I suppose it's my own stupid fault I never saw them._

_The day began as splendidly as any I could imagine…I awoke in Zen's arms. His heavy blue-gray form was half draped over me, head pillowed on my shoulder, arm holding me tight. It was pure bliss. Except, perhaps, for the fact he was drooling on me. But I digress… I lay awake, enjoying the closeness until he began to stir. I had dreamt pleasant dreams again. Though they were now faded with the dregs of sleep, I remembered the forest; I remembered being happy. My troll snuggled against me before waking fully, yawning and rubbing at his eyes. "Morning," he rumbled, patting my side and rising to stumble to the privy. I clutched at the happy feelings, wishing them to linger as the ever-present sense of want and defeat settled upon me again like a mantle. What I would give to have him; to be what he needs, wants._

_I stood and stretched my limbs, shaking my long body with a contented groan. There was something to be said for sleeping on cushions as opposed to the hard ground. When Zen returned, now awake and clean, I followed him out of the house to collect Lar'ja and his load of skins. The street was packed with people and creatures: great lumbering orcs and tauren, delicate blood elves and lanky trolls, kodo, wolf and raptor mounts, even some rotted forsaken that curled my lips. The din was amazing. Merchants declared their wares, armor clanked, beasts lowed. Behind us the pounding of hammer on anvil ricocheted around the smithy, the rhythm pausing as Zen called in a morning greeting to Raj. A moment later we were pressing through the crowd. I stuck close to my two males, my protectors in this foreign place. As fascinating as it was, I could not shake the thread of fear that wound tightly around my spine. My gut, the silent voice in my head… something… told me I should be very afraid here, that amongst these people my life should be forfeit. Why? I had no answers and the fear would not release me._

_Zen led us through the throngs to a structure which dwarfed those around it. He spoke for some minutes with an orc near the entrance, something about "consigning his wares." An agreement must have been reached, for he lifted the large stack of skins from the raptor's back and handed them off before tying Lar'ja to a rail beside several other mounts. Inside, the throng was hardly less than outside. I marveled at the height of the ceiling, supported by beams thick as tree trunks, capturing the voice of an orc on some sort of stage and reflecting it back to the audience. I paid little attention to what was going on, finding it much more interesting to people watch. The diversity of race, armor, weapons and clothing was mind boggling. Eventually I felt a large familiar hand on my head and glanced up to those deep red eyes I knew so well. It was time to leave, Zen's coin purse much heavier than before. We wandered around the city for several hours, picking up supplies at various stalls, Zen occasionally greeting someone he knew. The sun was heading toward the horizon when we returned to the smithy._

_True to his word, Raj had arranged for Zen and himself to meet with a number of friends for the evening. I was to stay behind. I lamented this fact, but couldn't lay blame. I am a saber, a pet, not one of Zen's comrades. Forever unable to participate in their conversations, tell my own wild tales of our adventures, laugh at their jokes. Alone. Forever alone. I made my way up to the roof deck, admiring the large waning moon. I was named for the moon, so Zen said. He'd told me I was as beautiful as that great orb. A whisper for the recesses of my mind told me it was Elune. The same Elune I would sometimes call on. How is it I didn't realize that before? It seems so obvious now._

_I'm still watching the moon, but now through the small, barred window of a dank cell. I was so entranced by the Laur-ke in the sky that I failed to hear them behind me. The net was already in the air when their foul stench invaded my nose. I twisted in the confining ropes, growling my anger, biting and slashing where I could, but the fibers held fast. The odor of rotted flesh was nearly overpowering, but I also smelled living orc. I lunged at that scent, my claws and fangs reaching through the mesh. I tasted blood on my tongue, and knew I'd reached my mark. But the clubs descended and soon I lost sight of the moon as the world went black._

_When I woke, I was being dragged through a stone tunnel, passing many identical barred doors. My captors carried a torch, the only light, which served to blind me more than aide my sight. I caught pieces of their conversation: "Saw her at the auction house…" "…pet of a big troll hunter…" "…will be pleased with a saber…" "…something different for the arena..." Their words made little sense. I recalled with an aching fear my time with the furbolgs. Am I cursed? Am I doomed to torment because I wanted more than my lot? Why could I not have been happy with what I had? They tossed me into this cell, so very much like the cage of my nightmares. I'm not sure I can survive this again. And now here I lay, on a cold stone floor, my bloodied face turned to the pale goddess in the sky. Please Elune, please. Help my Zen to find me. Zen, my Zen, I need you…_

* * *

The moon and stars shone brightly as a motley group of trolls, orcs, blood elves, and a lone forsaken stumbled out of the tavern, laughing loudly and using each other for support. Collectively they'd made a sizable dent in the bar's stores of ale and whiskey. Zen had his arm draped across the shoulders of a teal-haired troll woman, though he was using her more as a crutch than anything else; attempting, only somewhat successfully, to remain upright. The darkened buildings were spinning around him, and he was quite certain the street was moving of its own accord. He laughed with everyone else as a blond elf in their party tripped over the hem of his mage robes and sprawled on the ground before rolling to his hands and knees and retching in the gutter.

Raj'el had kept his word, and Zen's coin-purse was substantially lighter for it.  _What made me think this was a good idea, again?_  His muddled mind questioned. The feisty troll that was half holding him up was now groping his ass.  _How long has it been?_  Too long his body was telling him. She'd been eyeing him all evening and was attractive enough to suit his needs. He stumbled again and she took the opportunity to rub at the front of his trousers. Zen gave a low growl of pleasure, grabbing a breast in return. Someone cat-called and the teal-haired minx started walking him down a side street. Something tugged at what little lucidity he retained; trying to tell him he was forgetting something important, that this wasn't what he wanted. The alcohol is his veins washed the thought away almost as swiftly as it had materialized. He was now being pulled through a doorway, loosing sight of the others. That niggling thought screamed in his brain loud enough to cause him to pause. Zen leaned back out the door, searching for the wayward party.

"Raj'el!" He called several times before the green-haired troll looked in his direction.

"What, mon? Shar'zah will do you good. I know from experience!"

"No, that's not it. Just take care of Laur-ke. Tell her I'll be back in the morning."

Raj rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I'll tuck your pet in. Now get going, that woman ain't gonna wait all night," Raj waved him off. Zen felt the female in question yank on his arm, pulling him into her house. He just couldn't shake that feeling though.

Zen woke in a strange bed with a pounding head and no recollection of how he'd gotten there. A blue body lay under the furs beside him and his clothes were scattered on the floor. He could only assume he'd gotten lucky. Damned if he remembered a thing. He climbed out of the bed and pulled on his leathers. There was something important he wasn't remembering.  _Laur-ke…_  "Damnit," he grumbled. Grabbing his shirt, he hurried out of the house without a backward glance.

Lar'ja chirped a greeting at him from the raptor pen as he rushed back to his friend's apartment. Zen paused for just a moment to pat his mount. The entire walk back, a feeling of foreboding had settled in his gut, rivaling the headache for prominence. Something wasn't right. He was nearly running by the time he reached his destination. Taking the stairs three at a time, he launched himself through the door, calling for Laur-ke. Everything looked just as they'd left it, but no saber came to greet him. He searched everywhere. There weren't exactly a lot of places a large cat could hide, even if she was pissed at him. He wrenched open the door to Raj's bedroom, finding his friend facedown on the mattress in a drunken stupor.

"Raj. RAJ! Wake up you bastard. Were's Laur-ke?" The sleeping troll shoved at his assailant and mumbled something unintelligible. "Wake up damn you!" Zen punched him harder.

Raj cracked his eyes, "What the fuck do you want, mon? I'm sleeping."

"Where's Luar-ke?!" Zen's voice was getting frantic.

"Who? Oww!" Raj yelled as Zen smacked the back of his head.

"My pet! The nightsaber? The one you said you'd take care of?!"

Raj yawned widely. "Oh, yeah. Right. She wasn't here when I got home."

"WHAT!?" Zen yelled, grabbing his friend by the tusks, effectively waking Raj up. "What do you mean she wasn't here?! Where else would she be? And you didn't think to come get me?" He was livid now, all traces of his hangover burned away.

"I figured she went out or something. What's the big deal? She's just an animal!"

Zen dropped him and he slumped back onto the bed. "She's not just an animal! She's much more than just a pet. You can't begin to imagine what she means to me." Eyeing the other troll, who wasn't looking remotely concerned, he yanked the top fur away. "Get up! We have to go find her." Zen stalked out of the room, leaving a grumbling Raj behind. At the top of the stairs he noted a narrow set going upward and hope blossomed.  _I'm gonna kill her if she's on the roof and scared me like this._  Bounding up the stairs, he found, not a wayward saber, but signs of a struggle and a few splatters of dried blood. Zen felt his heart seize.

_Oh Gods, Luar-ke…_


	14. The Arena

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost there...

**Chapter 14: The Arena**

_Elune has risen on another night when they come for me. I hear the heavy lock on the door turn and the hinges squeal as it’s pulled back. I crouch in the corner, fangs bared, a loud hiss rumbling in my throat as a torch is thrust into my cell, held aloft by the boney hand of an emaciated forsaken. It is followed by an orc, arms covered in blood-stained bandages. Ahh, the one I marred. I recognize his scent. Perhaps I will get a chance to finish the job. I growl and flex my claws._

_“Tsk, tsk,” the corpse speaks. “None of that now. You will come with us one way or another.” It grins widely, blunt brown teeth visible through the holes in its cheeks. The orc pulls forth a long pole with a noose on the end. I lunge at him with a swipe of my paw, but he bats me away. I back as far into the corner as I can, but there is no escape. Despite my efforts, the loop is secured around my neck, barely allowing me to breathe, and I am dragged into the passage, claws scraping loudly across the stone._

_The forsaken leads, while the orc tugs me along behind. The light at the end of the tunnel proves to be torches in a large windowless room. As we enter, I glimpse the mangled body of some sort of person being dragged away, leaving a smeared trail of blood across the floor. My gut clenches. This is not good. A glance around the room increases the feeling exponentially, for it reveals several steel cages housing other predator species. Chained to the walls are… people. Humans I believe, though there are two much smaller ones that do not appear as children. My nose wrinkles at the smell. It pervades the space, seeping from the walls. It is the stench of terror: fear, blood, shit, death, and rotted corpses; both freshly killed and those still walking around._

_The orc gives a sharp yank on the pole, whipping my head around. I growl and swipe at him again, attempting to back out of this house of horrors, to no avail. He pulls me over to a cage loaded onto some sort of contraption and shoves me in. I crouch and hiss as the door is shammed shut, tail curling around my paws. My heart races, blood pounding through my veins. I will not let them see my fear. With the turn of a crank, the cage begins to ascend. Above me a pounding drone gets louder and louder. The cage rises through the ceiling and I open my eyes to find I am surrounded, a crowd shouts and stomps above a solid circle of high wooden walls. I don’t understand. What is this? What are they cheering at? There are dozens: orcs, elves, tauren, and ….trolls. This time it is my heart that clenches rather than my gut._

_The cage door slides open but I do not set foot onto the sand for it is saturated with the scent of blood and fear. I do not want to be here! This is a place of death! But I have no choice as I feel the bite of something sharp stab my flank. I spin to defend myself, confronting an orc and a troll, both green, poking at me with sharpened poles. I reluctantly back from the cage, belly touching the sand, fangs and claws at the ready. The cage sinks into the floor again and my tormentors climb from the arena. However, I am not left alone. A figure detaches from the wall, a male human, with a spear pointed in my direction. He is trembling with fear, but advances on me all the same. The roar of the crowd increases. “Fight,” they cry. “Kill!”_

_The human continues toward me, his green eyes wild. Blood drips from a gash on his brow and mingles with his brown hair. I growl a warning as he gets closer, causing him to pause, but only for a moment. Soon he is mere feet away and he thrusts the spear in my direction. I recoil, hissing in displeasure, but do not rise from my low stance. Why are you doing this? I don’t want to fight you. But he doesn’t cease and desist. He comes at me again and again, jabbing with the spear. I bat it away once, twice. I rise and pace in a circle around him. Who does this creature think he is to attack me? He is weak, pathetic, shaking in his skin. The human faces me, turning within the radius of my circle. The yells of the crowd grow louder. I ignore it. For now it is just my foe and I. He lunges, the spear aiming for my face, but I see the shift in his muscles and anticipate the move, dodging easily out of the way. I use his now unbalanced state to slip behind him and claw his tendons. The human screams pitifully and falls to his knees. He swings the spear, wild and uncontrolled. Desperate. I circle back to face him. I want my prey to see his death coming. His green eyes meet my silver; he acknowledges I will kill him. And then I leap, fastening my teeth around his throat, claws sinking into his soft flesh. The blood is fresh and hot. It pours into my mouth and I relish it. I clamp my jaws tightly, breaking his fragile spine. Releasing my grip, I stand upon the body and roar my victory. The crowd roars with me._

_Moments later I am ushered back into the cage by the same green barbarians. The orc with the noose awaits me in the bloody chamber. A thick chain is secured around my neck, over my metal collar which I still wear, holding me fast to a ring in the wall. I lick the blood from my lips. I have never killed one such as that before. The taste of human blood is foreign but not at all unpleasant. My musing is halted abruptly as a bucket of cold water is dumped over my head. I snarl and shriek in protest. I am going to_ kill _that orc if it is the last thing I do! I shake the water away and focus on my target, only to receive another dousing. I growl and charge at him, but he just laughs roughly as the chain yanks me back. He lifts yet another bucket, but a skeletal hand grasps his arm._

_“What have we here,” the forsaken rasps, his dead eyes gleaming._

_The orc gives him a dubious look. “It’s a saber. What else would it be?”_

_The corpse cackles. “Ah, but that_ is _the question.” It reaches a boney hand toward my face which I snap at. This earns me a ringing backhand from the orc. While dazed, I feel a rope wrapping around my muzzle, holding it shut. Dead fingers scratch around my eyes. I attempt to turn away, but sharp nails dig into the delicate skin. The paint! I forgot all about my disguise. Damn you dead thing!_

_“This is not a nightsaber, my mentally challenged friend,” the forsaken says, not looking at the confused orc. “This is something much better.” It smiles; rotted flesh stretching in ways living skin will not. I do not understand what he is talking about, but I know it bodes ill for me. The forsaken barks a command, and another orc joins my nemesis. The unnatural creature’s talons press into my flesh once more as it speaks directly to me, chilling me to the bone. “Come out, come out and play, my dear. You cannot hide in that form forever.” It looks again at the brutes. “This is not a nightsaber. This is a night elf druid.”_

_The orcs look from the forsaken to me and back again. “Can’t be,” one states. “She’s a pet. Saw her with a troll.”_

_“Yes, she may be able to fool such a primitive creature, but I am not so easily hoodwinked. Hit her. Beat her until she shows herself.” The corpse steps back as the orcs approach. Whether they believe the thing or not, they will follow orders. I gasp and fall to the floor as the orc to my left delivers a brutal kick to my ribcage. I have no chance to recover as the other pummels my head with his fist. Several more kicks are delivered to my side in quick succession. I can’t breathe! My tormentors are distracted by a disturbance on the other side of the room. I follow their gaze and see a purple skinned form, an elf, with blue hair and glowing silver eyes struggling against an orc and a troll. He fights the shackles that bind his hands and feet. He’s fighting to… get to me? All at once I am assailed with memories, visions, fragments of the dreams I’ve always forgotten. It’s a night elf. I know this for certain. I’ve been dreaming of night elves. The dead thing called_ me _a night elf. But I’m not! How can it be so mistaken? I’m a saber, a saber, a SABER!_

_The purple man is gone and the orc blindsides me with another kick. I roll to my belly, unable to protect myself. Something warm and wet is running into my eyes. Blood I assume. I look down at my paws and am shocked to see the glow of strange white light that hovers around them. Another kick lands on my side and I feel my ribs crack, yet I cannot tear my eyes away from my feet. The light flickers and so do I. I see my paws turn to lavender hands. Five-fingered hands. No, they are paws again. My paws. Hands. Paws. I feel a strange sensation flow through my body. It’s like liquid lightening. I cry out in pain. Hands. Paws. Hands… I hear a roar and look up. It’s a roar of rage, a bellow promising pain. It’s a roar I recognize. Zen…_

* * *

 

_A whole day_. The sun has nearly set and still they had not found her. Zen was nearly frantic. He wanted to kill something, someone. Who would dare to take his Lur-ke? He had dragged Raj to the scene of the crime, at which point the green-haired troll finally took the situation seriously. Whether his new-found concern was for Zen’s pet or the invasion of his home was beside the point for he was now awake and soliciting help. Not long after, a pair of Kor’kron arrived to investigate. Zen was dismayed to learn that his was not the first pet to disappear under suspicious circumstances. It was their belief that an underground gladiator ring was operating somewhere in the Cleft of Shadow, but they’d been yet to discover its location. Missing pets were used as fodder for the arena.

Visions of torture, death and dismemberment flooded Zen’s mind.  _She’s strong_ , he kept reminding himself.  _She won’t go down without a fight._  Instead of dwelling on the what ifs and worst cases, Zen threw himself into the task of finding his girl. He put his tracking skills to work, combing the roof and surrounding streets and alleys for clues. The scent of forsaken was unmistakable, which confirmed the suspicions of the Kor’Kron that it was one of the reanimated dead that was running the cartel. The blood however, was not from the nightsaber, nor could it have come from a corpse. There were others involved as well. Zen was able to pinpoint how they had entered, coming across from a neighboring roof deck, and that they had drug a heavy burden back the way they came.

The trail was lost amongst the throngs now occupying the Drag, but if the Kor’Kron suspected the Cleft of Shadow, then that was where he would look. Hours were spent interrogating the many vendors, asking if anyone had seen anything suspicious. Of course they had! The Cleft was where  _everything_ suspicious happened! Zen was to the point of spilling blood. Raj had recruited several friends, party-goers from the evening before, to aide in their search, but as the hours ticked by it appeared fruitless. Laur-ke had vanished without a trace. As the moon rose once more, the search party was becoming disillusioned, tired and hungry, reluctant to continue hunting for merely a stolen pet. Zen however, refused to give up, despite his mounting worry and frustration. He would go to his grave before he’d simply leave his saber, his best friend, to such a fate.

Finally, he got a break. Zen, while questioning a potions merchant, had seen the curtain behind her flutter, the telltale sign of an eavesdropper. He dove over the vendor’s table, deaf to the orcess’ protests, and snatched a trembling forsaken from the shadows. The walking corpse was badly rotted, skin peeling away to show withered muscles and shining white bone. The creature disgusted Zen, not just because of its physical state, but for the weakness it displayed. Pinning her to the ground, the troll questioned the forsaken woman, and, when she wasn’t immediately forthcoming, selectively removed some appendages until she was shrieking in her rasping voice. He then had the location of a tunnel.

Zen crept down the torchlit hall, followed by the Kor’Kron, Raj and the rescue party. They passed many cell doors, but continued on to the hub. The soldiers were hoping to catch the mastermind in the act. Luck, it happened, was on their side. They approached a room, silently, with weapons drawn, surprise on their side. Only when an orc nearly walked into Zen did he roar a battle cry and leap forward slashing at living and dead alike. Bloodlust surged through his veins. He looked around the torture chamber, seeing his comrades fighting scum, seeing humans and a few dwarves chained to the walls, searching for the one being that meant most to him in the world. An orc charged the troll, who struck him down without mercy, nearly severing the tusked head from its thick neck.

And then he saw her, his Luar-ke; chained to a wall, blood running down her face,  _alive_ , with her fangs imbedded in the throat of an orc with bandaged arms. She lifted her head and her glowing silver eyes met his. Zen had never been so relieved in his life. He stumbled forward and threw his arms around her neck. “You’re alive. You’re safe,” he whispered into her fur. It was all he could think to say.


	15. The Crying Land

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this chapter got really long. The story has also taken a decidedly darker turn than I'd originally planned, but that seems to be the direction it wants to go. I'm sure I'll manage to get more humor in down the road. Oh, and the next chapter is the big one!!

**Chapter 15: The Crying Land**

_He’s here. He’s come for me. I knew he would. His bellows of rage are for me. He kills … for me. My lips lift in a feline smirk, as best they can behind the rope that binds them. The mauled orc, my prey, is dead. He just doesn’t know it yet. His partner in my torment draws a blade and charges toward my troll who will end his miserable life. Oh, how I wish to simply watch, to admire the beauty of him as he dispatches our foes. Instead, I use the distraction to paw the rope from my face, freeing my weapons of choice. My prey has his back to me. Foolish. Very, very foolish. He turns around only when he hears me growl. It is the last sound he hears. My eyes, the last thing he sees._

_Zen’s arms are wrapped around me now. He whispers over and over “You’re alive, you’re safe.” I want to curl around him, too. I want to murmur back that I never doubted him; that I knew it would take far more than a few orcs and undead to keep us apart. I don’t look back as we walk away from that place of death, leaving the soldiers to clean up the mess. Zen’s hand never leaves my shoulder, not wishing to break our contact, hovering over the marking that complements those over my eyes. The markings that led the forsaken to declare me a night elf in disguise._

_We return to Raj’s for the night, where Zen cleans my wounds and paints me once again. We will not stay here long. Tomorrow we leave, he tells me. It is not safe. I don’t care where we go, so long as I am always by his side. I will not wish for more. I have learned my lesson. Still though, the memories creep in, unbidden: the purple man, the white light, the pain that came from within. Every time I close my eyes I see my paws morph into strange, slender hands. I can still feel the lightening coursing though my veins. I tell myself over and over that it was a trick, a “slight of hand,” so to speak. I tell myself that the forsaken did something to me, that it caused what I saw. I tell myself lies and I know it. There is something very wrong with me and I’m terrified to discover the truth. I cannot be, do not_ want  _to be, a night elf. For if I am, if I am one of that race and not an animal, then I will loose my Zen. Would fate be so cruel? Would it make me the thing he hates most in this world? Zen holds me close as he sleeps, but my mind will not still. I am free of the physical torment, but the internal kind remains._

__*     *     *     *    *__

_We’ve returned to the forest. The place a voice from long ago named Ashenvale. There is something about this land, something I don’t understand just yet, but it calls to me without words; pulls me in and refuses to let go. It whispers to me, a ceaseless hum. The land here is alive and I now know I am connected to it. We draw nearer to our destination and I can feel the forest’s agony. It cries out for me to aide it, but how can a place feel pain? We step through the tree line. Oh Sweet Elune, I understand now! I want to weep. The land has been stricken, raped, destroyed. I stop and refuse to go further. I will not set foot on that tainted soil._

_Zen and Lar’ja have walked ahead, but he pauses and looks back when he realizes I am no longer at his side. “What’s the matter, Laur-ke?” he asks. I cannot answer him. He crouches before me and wipes at my cheeks, hand coming away wet. I’ve never cried before. Can a true saber cry? Is this yet one more sign that I am not what I believe myself to be? Zen looks puzzled and concerned. I peer into those beautiful red eyes and will him to comprehend, to somehow feel what I feel, but I can see he does not. “Come on girlie, we’re almost there.” He pats my head and walks away again. Still, I do not follow. I am rooted. “Get you’re ass moving, cat. I want a hot meal and a bed tonight,” the annoyance in his voice clear. I cannot. I back into the forest, away from the destruction. “Laur-ke, what’s gotten into you? It’s just a logging camp! I know it’s ugly as sin, but the Horde needs the wood. It’s a necessary evil.” No, I think. This_ is _evil, but there is no way the benefits are worth the cost. “Please? I promise we’ll leave in the morning. Just for tonight.” How can I not consent? The pain of being separated from him is more acute than this pain thrust on me that is not my own. I take a step forward. Then another._

_*     *     *     *    *_

_I am nearly asleep when the battle cries sound. It takes me a few seconds to discern that they are real and not merely in my head. I hear the whistle of arrows, the clash of blades, the booms of magical attack. Where is he? It’s my first and only thought. I am in the stable, locked safely away, not at all where I wish to be. How can I protect Zen if he is not with me! I leap over the partition wall and dash into the night. Outside is chaos. Fires burn where they should not. Blood is on the air. I run through the melee, hunting for my troll, seeking out his scent. Shadowy forms are battling with the residents of the town, but I ignore them as my one and only goal occupies my whole attention. I catch a whiff of the familiar and follow it like a thread. I hear that familiar roar. I’m coming! I’m almost there! I slide to a stop, claws catching in the soil, my muscles suddenly refusing to obey. I am frozen, unable to tear my eyes from Zen’s adversary. She has purple skin, long white hair, and dark tattoos over silver eyes. Utterly incapable of forming a coherent thought, I simply stare and stare as the battle rages around me._

_Zen’s bow lies forgotten on the ground as he attacks the figure with his blade, which she deflects with a bow of her own, leaping to land a kick on his chest. He stumbles back a couple steps but drives forward again, pushing her toward the woods. “You may be strong, troll, but you will not survive this night,” she hisses at Zen. It takes a moment for me to register that she speaks a different language than those Zen has taught me, and yet I know every word as though it’s my mother tongue. “Thenysil!” The night elf yells. I hear a roar behind me and finally am able to tear my eyes away, only for them to be captured yet again, this time by another female elf, riding a huge dark saber. Another saber! The mounted elf draws her bow and fires several arrows. My mind screams as my voice cannot. Zen bellows in pain as one of the arrows embeds itself in his shoulder._

_No! I roar. It is a roar that I have never made before, a roar of rage and fury, so loud the two elves turn to look at me. I see the second one smirk, a half grin that turns to shock as I plow into her and the other saber, knocking him to the ground and sending his rider flying. I leap over my downed kin and land on the back of the she-elf, sinking my fangs into her shoulder. She screams in agony. Half of my mind shrieks that this is wrong, so wrong, but all I can see is the arrow hitting blue flesh. I viciously shake my head side to side, tearing muscle and bone. You will never harm another with you bow, you bitch! The elf is unmoving in my jaws, though she still breathes. Suddenly I am tackled from behind, sent rolling as I release the limp body I held. It is the other nightsaber. He is larger than me, driven to protect his rider just as I am to defend my troll. We circle one another, growling low. He makes the first move, a brutal swipe of a large, deadly paw, which I duck under. I leap and tear at his eyes; eyes that do not glow the way my own do. We slash and claw, rip and lacerate. He tries to pin me to the ground, get to my throat, but I am faster. I twist in my skin and land a harsh blow to the side of his head, tumbling him off of me. It is the opening I need, lunging to bite the flesh of his neck. The hole I tear will not kill him, but weakens him none the less. A yell, a call, the dark saber pulls away and leaps to the side of his rider. She is conscious again, pulling herself on to his back with her one good arm. They disappear into the darkness of the forest. I turn just in time to see Zen pull the other elf into a head-lock and snap her neck. The purple body slides limply to the ground. For some reason the scene stabs me through the heart._

* * *

 

He was on edge. Yes, he’d rescued Luar-ke from the arena, but where could he take her? Was there no place safe that a former Horde soldier and a former Alliance pet could coexist? For certain they needed to get out of Durotar. Though he had planned to head to Senjin, it didn’t seem like a good option, not with the ancestral animosity of the trolls toward the night elves, and by default, their animals. For the moment, all he could think to do was head back to Ashenvale. He needed time to think, to sort out long term plans, for no matter what, no matter the personal cost, he would not give her up. At the same time, he dreaded returning to the forest. He dreaded the day Laur-ke would finally meet a night elf and what her reaction would be. Though he was certain she would remain loyal, there was that insistent lingering doubt that haunted the back of his mind.

It took them a week to near Splintertree and the Warsong Lumber Camp. He planned to speak with some locals and attempt to identify somewhere secluded in the region that they could set up a safe and defensible camp while he figured things out. He hated Warsong, was bothered intensely but the pillaging of the forest, but he understood the necessity of it. The Horde needed raw materials and Ashenvale was the most obvious choice, despite the regular night elf raids. Honestly, he couldn’t blame the elves for defending the trees, but he’d fight them all the same. A good kal-dorei was a dead one.

Luar-ke began acting strangely the closer they got to their destination. She was distracted and agitated. He wondered if it was simply being back in the forest where he found her, or if she was dwelling on her recent kidnapping. He’d met with the Kor’kron before they’d left the city, giving his side of the story for the record, and cataloguing which bad guys he’d killed. The soldiers described what they found after he’d secured his pet. There’d been a sand arena filled with spatters of new and old blood, a room with a stack of fresh bodies, the human male on the top with his throat ripped out. He wished he could ask Laur-ke what had happened, what they’d done to her, for he could only speculate. However, as much as he wanted it to be true, his beautiful saber was just that, a saber, and could not enlighten him. So he patched her physical hurts and hoped the mental ones healed just as quickly. He’d noticed she seemed to have bad dreams at night now. With any luck the nightmares would fade quickly.

They soon broke through the treeline into territory cleared by the logging gangs, scattered stumps and weeds all that remained of the rich canopy. Zen sneered at the sight, but trudged forward regardless. Only, Laur-ke was all of a sudden absent from her post at his side, one she’d been loathe to vacate since her rescue. He stopped and looked back, Lar’ja halting beside him and chirping an inquiry. The ivory cat had stilled at the edge of the forest, frozen in place. “What’s the matter, Laur-ke,” he called back to her, but she was deaf to him, simply staring at the cleared land. As he backtracked to his wayward pet, Zen was shocked to find fat tears running down her cheeks, her frame trembling. What was this now? He’d never seen her cry. Come to think of it, he’d never seen  _any_  pet weep. It didn’t seem to matter how much time he spent with her, Luar-ke never ceased to confound him.

It took some coaxing, but eventually she was convinced to continue on their journey. Several hours later, as dusk settled over the woods, they passed through the gates of Splintertree Post. The guards questioned him on his choice of companion, but with her tattoos once again hidden, gave him little trouble. Luar-ke was not  _at all_  happy about being left in the stable. Zen wasn’t particularly pleased about it either, having grown accustomed to sleeping with her at his side or under his head, but rules were rules, and no animals were permitted in the inn. He left her in a stall, blocking out her pitiful whines as he walked away.

Settling at the bar, ale in hand, Zen first chatted with the husky orcess innkeeper, Kaylisk, before ending up at a table with a pair of tauren sisters, Har’alen and Yama, an the latter’s mate Loruk. He quizzed the trio on their knowledge of the area and if they knew any locations that might suit his needs. He left out that those “needs” happened to be a safe place to stash his night elf saber. Har’alen mentioned a cave with a clearing and a small pond, not far from the banks of the Falfarren river. From her description it sounded like it would suit them quite well: close enough to the Outpost to make day trips for supplies, remote enough that they shouldn’t be bothered. That piece of business taken care of, Zen bought his new friends a round and they proceeded to trade war stories.

He was considering heading to bed, surprisingly not having drunk much nor having any interest in seeking a female, when the alarm was raised. The Sentinels are attacking. Everyone, resident and guest alike, grabbed their weapons and rushed to defend the town. These raids were not an irregular occurrence, the elves being persistent in their attacks. That said, buildings still burned and people still died. Feeling the rush that battle always brought, Zen charged into the fray, rapidly firing arrow after arrow at the dark warriors. He’d taken out several when a white haired she-elf got too close for comfort. Ranged attacks no longer the best choice, Zen drew his sword and wailed on the tall, slim woman. She held her ground well, fighting him hand to hand, bow to blade. He was a bit surprised when she began taunting him, but didn’t let up his blows. Not that he understood a word anyway. She round-house kicked him in the chest, a surprisingly strong blow for her size, and called to her sister in arms. Zen had no chance to defend himself from the volley of arrows that flew his way.

The roar from nearby was deafening. It was Laur-ke as he’d never seen or heard her. She seemed almost to glow in her righteous anger, a creature wielding retribution like a weapon. He grunted at the impact to his shoulder, feeling the barbed head slide into the muscle between his shoulder blade and upper ribs. Hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, and made it difficult to use that arm, but he thanked the Loa nothing more vital was hit. The elf he’d been fighting was distracted by the sudden appearance of a strange saber, though Zen was too shocked at seeing Laur-ke barrel into the mount, nailing it in the ribs with her shoulder and sending the larger cat tumbling, to take advantage of the situation. His focus returned when the elf before him swung her bow at his head once again, too well trained to abandon the fight and run to the aide of the other. He glimpsed Laur-ke sink her fangs into the second elf, then take on the larger saber, holding her own. Meanwhile, the white-haired elf fought ferociously, unwilling to give an inch. With his arm damaged, Zen instead utilized his larger size to turn the tide in his favor. Eventually he maneuvered an arm around her neck and heard the satisfying crunch as her spine snapped.

He immediately looked around for Laur-ke and found her walking in his direction. Quite the pair they made, breathing heavily and dripping blood from their wounds. They were alive though, and she had not forsaken him. She had gone so far as to nearly kill one of her former masters’ race and even  fought one of her own kind, a nightsaber mount that by all rights should have taken her out. But she had battled bravely and well, loyal only to him. It was a bit of a shock, and certainly demonstrated that she had been in conflict of this type before, something he’d always wondered about. No, he thought once again, I will not let anything, not anyone and their prejudices, come between us.


	16. The Shattering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time!!

**Chapter 16: The Shattering**

_Zen is standing at the entrance to the cave, watching the incoming storm. We’ve been here a couple weeks and have made ourselves at home. Our respective wounds have mostly healed. I’ve relished the solitary existence, far from the crowds and battles and hate. Facing away from me, I can see the new puckered scar on the upper left of his broad bare back; his momento from our skirmish with the night elves. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking since that night, searching my heart, my mind, my soul for answers. Part of me refuses to acknowledge the signs. I can delude myself until Elune falls from the sky, but somehow the truth always seems to come out. The rest of me embraces the idea. So what if I am a night elf, a druid in the form of a saber? Zen doesn’t need to know. I haven’t the first idea how to change myself back, regardless. Being beaten within an inch of my life seemed to jumpstart the process, but I’d rather not go that route again if I can help it. Nor have I felt the magic in my blood since that day. Knowing this, though, can I be content with my life as it is? Perhaps. If only I weren’t plagued by unrealized desires centering around a certain troll hunter. I don’t believe I can go back to viewing him as nothing more than my friend and master. If any truth has become evident, it is that I love Zen’Jakar with every cell of my being._

_A flash of lightening highlights the stone walls around me. There is an unnatural red tint to the sky, which makes Zen look almost purple. A prophetic color. He turns away with a grunt. “Something not right with this storm. We’d best stay inside tonight.” He hunkers down at the firepit and coaxes a flame to life. Lar’ja chitters from his place at the back of the cave, which is quite spacious. He’s asking what’s for dinner. I’ve developed a strange knack for understanding the gist of raptor-speak. Granted, Zen always seems to know what he wants, too. We dine on roots and boar, roasted over the glowing coals. The lightening and thunder outside have gotten worse, with a bit of rain now added to the mix. Inside, however, it is warm and secure. I feel myself drifting off to sleep…_

_The air crackles with electricity and magic. A drumroll of thunder gets louder and louder, and hidden within it, so distant it could easily be lost, is the roar of a being so ancient and large that it could rend the fabric of our world. A tidal wave of energy engulfs me. Images are flooding my mind, too many, too much! I can’t make sense of them all! The forest, Ashenvale. The city, Astranaar. A pink-skinned, blue haired child takes me by the hand. Laughter. Crying. Screaming. People with glowing silver eyes singing and dancing in intricate patterns. A beautiful woman with purple hair hands me a necklace shaped like the moon. A magical well shimmers in the moonlight. Glowing green light heals bloody red wounds. Sweat-slicked lavender bodies writhe in sync. A masculine voice whispers in my ear “I love you.” Someone is calling, calling…Arolei, Arolei, AROLEI!_

_I wake with a scream on my lips. The dreams don’t stop. They follow me from the dream world to the real. They are chasing me, haunting me. I paw my head. It hurts! Make the pain stop! I dash from the cave, trying to outrun the pictures in my head. Red lightening streaks across the night sky; black clouds boil and the ground shakes with the booms of thunder as though it is the end of days. Yet I can see nothing but this waking nightmare. I run blindly, tripping over roots, vines catching in my fur. I run but I cannot escape. And now I fall. I can go no further. My blood burns in my veins. I open my eyes to see the stormy sky, to ground myself, but instead I see nothing but white light. I scream as I’m torn apart._

* * *

 

They’d found the cave just where Har’alen had said it would be. There were signs that previous adventurers had camped there, but nothing recent. Zen breathed a sign of relief. They would be safe here for a while. There was plenty of game to hunt and a small spring-fed pond provided water and fresh fish. It was a little piece of paradise. Despite pondering their dilemma for the better part of two weeks, Zen had yet to concoct a plan. At least not one that involved interaction with, well, anyone really. They might head back to Un’gar’s, though he wasn’t a big fan of the high desert, and much as he loved the old troll, actually living with him on a daily basis... The tauren hadn’t seemed too perturbed to have Laur-ke in their midst, but enough other races passed through Thunder Bluff that problems would no doubt arise. He supposed Rachet or Booty Bay might work, but they needed to range for their chosen profession, and he’d have to interact with Alliance in those cities. Nope, scratch that last one. There really was not easy answer, no perfect solution. Why, by all the Gods and Aspects, did something so seemingly simply have to be so difficult?

The saber in question had nodded off on the other side of the fire, full and content. The storm was getting worse, and it made him uneasy. Not that they weren’t snug and dry where they were, but the air didn’t feel right. It felt like something was coming, the lightening a harbinger for an unknown evil. The red and black sky didn’t help ease the knot it his gut, either. Zen was just thinking of heading to bed, not expecting to sleep much, when he heard the telltale whimpers and scratching of Laur-ke dreaming. Her nighttime marathons had been getting worse and more frequent, waking him several times a night. Damned annoying, actually. He should probably take her to a shaman and have her looked at. These dreams went far beyond the normal twitching of an animal chasing prey in their sleep. More often than not they seemed like nightmares. Was she dreaming of the arena? She’d been a bit distant since then, often drifting off in contemplation. Perhaps their fight with the elves? It would stand to reason. She might be remembering things prior to her captivity. Was she experiencing guilt? Was that even possible? She’d certainly challenged his pre-conceived notions many a time before.

Her twitching grew more violent. She was now thrashing and shaking, mewling pitifully. Whatever she was seeing, it had her extremely agitated. This was by far the worst he ever seen her get. Zen had just risen to wake her, pull her from the nightmares, when the saber let out a blood-curdling shriek. She was instantly on her feet, pawing at her head, whining desperately as though something inside were trying to break free. “Laur-ke, what’s gotten into you?” he yelled, attempting to grab her attention, but she was gone, sprinting from the cave into the gale as though chased by demons. “Loa take  _everything_!” Zen cursed, scrambling after her. “Laur-ke! Dammit all cat, stop!” His calls fell on deaf ears. He could just make out her ivory hide ahead of him, highlighted by each flash of lightening. He would surely have lost her if she hadn’t been tripping over everything in sight. He couldn’t fathom what was wrong with her, but it was something major. She was in pain and he would do anything in his power to help her, whatever it was. That was if he could catch her.

He heard her crying ahead and he sprinted faster. She was there, just at the top of a rise, writhing on the ground, making sounds of agony that shot fear straight into his heart.  _Almost there, hang on baby…_ Just as Zen reached the slope and started to clamber up on hands and knees, Luar-ke was engulfed in a cocoon of blinding white light and the air reverberated with a scream that was not at all animal. He froze, mouth agape, completely at a loss with this turn of events. This was some sort of magic. He could feel it crackling along his skin, raising the hair on his arms. Someone or something was torturing his Luar-ke and he had no idea what to do! He was utterly helpless. The light pulsed and he was forced to shield his eyes from the glare.

The sky above was at war with itself, red and angry, the ground trembling from the ceaseless thunder. Abruptly the screaming ceased and the light began to fade. Zen was terrified to look, fearing he’d find ashes and bones or a bloody corpse, but nothing could have prepared him for the sight he beheld when he dared open his eyes. There was no corpse, no blood…no  _nightsaber_. Instead, there was a ball of lavender skin, curled fetally, facing away from him. Minutes passed by before Zen could form any sort of coherent thought, and still all that materialized was a mumbled “what the fuck?” Finding his ability to move had returned, he crept up the hill warily, coming to kneel behind the still figure. Gathering his wits, he placed his large blue hand on a small purple shoulder and tugged, turning the figure onto its back.

Zen gasped. He couldn’t help himself. Before him lay a night elf woman. Her skin was pale lavender and ivory hair clung to her face in wet strands. He couldn’t tell if she was dead or unconscious; wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.  _Loa help me_ … Who in the world was this elf and where was his Luar-ke? And then it hit him like a war hammer to the skull: the elf  _was_  Laur-ke. In the flashing light he could see familiar scars marring her otherwise perfect skin. There were the dark purple claw-mark tattoos running over her eyes. And there, between her soft, bare,  _flawless_ , breasts hung a silver necklace with a pendant in the shape of a crescent moon. Just like that, all the puzzle pieces fell into place. Her person-like tendencies. Her keen grasp of language. Her strange abilities and the fact that he could never form the normal hunter-pet mental bond…  _That damn Tauren shaman knew!_ “I am the stupidest troll in all Azeroth,” he whispered aloud.Reaching out tentatively, almost afraid to touch her again, he gently swept the hair from her face with a trembling hand. Refined, high cheekbones, pert nose, full purple lips, and the same glowing silver eyes that were… staring right at him!  _Oh, spirits…_  He froze as a delicate five-fingered hand reached up and touched his lips, so gently he could barely feel it. “Zen,” she whimpered. Then her eyes rolled back and she went limp.

The troll had no idea how long he knelt there in the cold mud, oblivious to the vicious storm raging all around him, staring at the figure that had been his best friend and was now his mortal enemy.  _It can’t be! It’s simply not possible!_  But apparently it was. She was his Laur-ke! How could she be a night elf? How could she have been a saber all this time and never changed? Was this some sort of devious trick? Had she been playing him all along? His head and his heart were at war. Part of him wanted to leave her there, to whatever hand fate dealt her. The rest wanted to gather her in his arms and never let go. He was shivering from the cold by the time he came to a decision. With a silent plea for guidance, Zen slipped his arms beneath the lithe body, lifting her to cradle against his chest, and made his way back to the cave. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope that lived up to everyone's expectations. Next chapter... the fallout. The story's not nearly done yet. We've got quite a bit of ground to cover following Cataclysm.
> 
> Arolei is pronounced "arrow-LAY"


	17. The New World

**Chapter 17: The New World:**

Laur-ke was woken by warm breath on her cheek. It felt strange, like it was somehow bypassing her fur and fluttering directly across her skin. She was warm and comfortable, enveloped in the scent of Zen, the scent of home. Her entire being ached, however, and she was loathe to open her eyes. _What happened? Was I in another fight?_ The light behind her eyelids proclaimed it morning, and she knew she needed to get up. No doubt Zen would want to go hunting. Gingerly opening her eyes, she looked up into the somewhat perplexed face of a certain black and green raptor. _What the…?_ She always hated when Lar’ja got in her face, so she responded in her normal manner, with a swat on his nose. Luar-ke barely suppressed a shriek of surprise when, rather than the expected paw, a slender purple hand with five digits connected with his scaled nose. She gasped and sat up so quickly she saw stars.

Luar-ke sat there, staring at the foreign appendage, which was most definitely connected to her body. She lifted her other hand, which was a mirror image of the first, and turned them back and forth, unable to quite comprehend what was going on. Then the previous night, the dreams, the magic, the pain, it all filtered back. She reached up and tentatively felt her face, ran her fingers up the length of long ears, and combed them through a mass of ivory tresses. _Oh Goddess, I really am a night elf. It wasn’t just a nightmare._  Luar-ke looked around, finding herself in the cave wrapped up in Zen’s bedroll. Lar’ja, having not appreciated the smack, had wandered out and there was no sign of her troll. Thinking of Zen caused a spike of panic. _Oh no, what must he think? Does he hate me?_ Well, he hadn’t killed her on the spot, which she figured was a good sign, and he’d brought her back to the cave and tucked her into his bed.

She pushed off the furs, instantly missing the scent and warmth, and turned onto her hands and knees. Using the wall of the cave for support, she tentatively stood up on wobbling legs. The ground was suddenly a lot further away than she was accustomed to. It was several minutes before Luar-ke felt steady enough to try a step away from the wall. She summarily found herself in a heap on the ground. Obviously it was going to take a little time for her limbs to remember how to walk upright. Looking down at the strange, yet increasingly familiar lavender body, she noticed she was wearing a necklace. On closer inspection it proved to be a silver chain with a delicate curved pendant in the shape of the moon. Her mind was once again assaulted with memories. _I remember…_

_Arolei was bouncing with excitement, the anticipation nearly too much. Today was her right of passage. She’d studied and trained for decades, and today, on the night of the full moon, she was going to receive her tattoos and become a full-fledged adult. She’d now be able to travel and adventure. Sanalea, who was also receiving her marks today, had agreed to accompany her on their first trip, to Darnassus. Despite the cautioning of her parents, she was eager to get out and explore the world. Her satchel was already packed and she’d planned their route down to the tiniest detail. As for today, she’d been dressed and ready for hours, yet the sun stubbornly refused to set. “Arolei,” a gentle voice called. She turned to see a woman with long purple hair enter her room. He mother was the most beautiful elf she’d ever seen, and doubtlessly the kindest. “Are you excited, Sweetheart?” She asked. Arolei simply smiled widely. Ask a stupid question… “Well, I know how busy you’re going to be later, so I wanted to give you a gift now.” She handed her a small package; a folded leaf tied with a lovely little flowering vine. Pulling it quickly apart, Arolei gasped at the contents. It was a silver necklace with the crescent moon, the symbol of Elune, and identical to the one around her mother’s throat. She felt herself choke up with emotion. This must be the other half of the pair, the one in her hand having belonged to her mother’s long dead twin sister. Arolei couldn’t find any words. Her mother simply plucked the necklace from her palm and clasped it around her neck. “I want you to have this. It represents all the love I had for my sister, and all the love I have for you. Keep it with you always and you will never forget.”_

Luar-ke felt the prickle of tears and wiped them away fiercely. Now was not the time to cry. She needed to find Zen, to know that he was ok. She needed to explain. Crawling over to his pack, she pulled out one of his spare tunics and shrugged it on. The fabric hung on her lithe frame in swaths, falling to mid thigh and refusing to remain on more than one shoulder at a time. It would have to suffice. Now clothed, Laur-ke tried standing again, finding herself a bit more steady the second time around. She made her way toward the cave entrance, one hand always on the wall for support, trying not to stumble over her strange new feet.

Zen sat a dozen feet or so from the mouth of the cave, working a skin on his portable frame. Though the blade scraped back and forth, his mind was far away. He’d replayed every moment of his months with Laur-ke, trying to identify the signs he’d missed. He simply couldn’t understand how this situation was even _possible_.How could a druid, of any race, have maintained an animal form for so long? Was she spying on him? Trying to learn Horde and troll secrets? And now what was he supposed to do? She was a night elf, Alliance, and she knew far too much. He could feel the anger at her betrayal bubbling in his veins. He couldn’t let her go. He certainly couldn’t keep her. Already his heart ached for the loss of his companion and friend. He’d carried her back to the cave last night, through that unholy storm, and laid her unconscious form on his bed. There’d been no way to help looking at her, his eyes running over her slim muscles and soft curves. She was, without a doubt, beautiful to the eye. Even in her windblown and muddy state, it was impossible to miss the long legs, indigo tipped breasts and finely wrought features. He’d been unable to resist running his large fingers through the ivory strands of her hair, which so perfectly matched the fur of her saber form. He was having a hard time reconciling that they were one in the same. In the end, he’d spent the rest of the night sitting against the rock wall just watching her as she slept, having finally tucked her into the furs.

He stiffened as he heard a noise behind him, coming from the cave. _She must be awake_. Zen stood and slowly turned to find the elf, drowning in one of his shirts, gripping the wall at the mouth of the cave like a lifeline. Instinctively he growled low in his throat and was both pleased and troubled to see her cower a bit. He let his eyes roam over her body, so vastly different from her saber form, and that much more appealing now that she was on her feet. He nearly growled again, this time at himself, for such inappropriate and unwelcome thoughts.

“Zen,” she croaked, coughing, attempting to make her atrophied vocal cords function as intended. “Zen,” she tried again, this time with more success. He purposely rearranged his face into a scowl and stared murderously at Laur-ke. _No, not Laur-ke. She’s just some night elf now_. “Please, Zen. It’s still me.” Her voice was as beautiful as she was, light and musical, but with just the right amount of depth. He avoided her eyes. He knew if he looked into those silver eyes, those same liquid silver orbs, that he’d forgive her anything. “Please,” she begged and stepped forward arm extended toward him. Her legs were still not cooperating though and she tripped. Zen found himself leaping forward to catch her before she could fall. Laur-ke’s palms end up flat against his chest and the rest of her body pressed flush against his. Zen shivered at the contact. Her head was tucked under his chin, cradled between his tusks. Her body fit perfectly against his. He tilted his head to look down at her and, meeting those eyes, which he’d just sworn not to do, was assailed by the overwhelming desire to taste her lips. He tipped his head further. They were unbelievably soft and pliable beneath his own, hints of rainwater and moonflower caressing his tongue. They were lips he could kiss for an eternity. Suddenly his brain caught up and he realized what he was doing. Zen flung Laur-ke away from himself with such force that she tumbled to the ground. He stared frozen in shock as she looked up at him, fingers touching her lips, tears pooling in her eyes. Then she clambered to her feet and stumbled back into the cave. She never saw the mixed look of horror and regret that crossed his features. With a curse, Zen grabbed his bow and disappeared into the forest.

Laur-ke threw herself onto the bedroll, unable to control the sobs that racked her frame. They way he’d looked at her… she was so certain that he hated her. That he would never forgive her. Why should he? She’d betrayed him. She was the thing he hated most. No better than the night elves that had slaughtered his family. But he’d caught her, and, _Sweet Elune,_ he’d _kissed_ her. It was like every dream she’d ever had coalesced, it was better than she’d ever imagined. His lips, his tusks, the feel of his hard chest beneath her hands… it was everything she’d ever wanted. And then he threw her to the ground. He tossed her from him as though she burned him. As though she were some horrid thing he dared not touch. The look in his eyes, the disgust… She wailed at the loss, salty tears flowing down her claw mark tattoos.

It was dusk when Zen finally returned to camp, a young deer draped over his shoulder. He’d walked for hours, unable to calm his raging emotions. He was angry at _her_ , for being what she was, for making him love her as a saber, then becoming just the thing he hated more than any other. The irony of it burned like acid. And he was furious at _himself_ ; for trusting her, for wanting to forgive her, for the traitorous reaction of his body. A fire was burning in the pit, lighting the cave and revealing a slim lavender body curled on Luar-ke’s fur, opposite his own bedroll. Zen purposely ignored her. He couldn’t look at her. If he did there was no guarantee what his reaction would be. In his peripheral, he saw her sit up and clutch her knees to her chest. Misery radiated off her. He set about butchering the deer and laid out several slabs to cook. Enough for two.

Laur-ke watched him from her side of the fire. Watched as he silently cooked a piece of meat for her and dropped it onto a plate when it was ready, pushing the whole in her direction with his foot, as though the action revolted him. She crept forward and snatched her meal, retreating to her fur to devour it. He stubbornly refused to even glance her way. Eventually, once they’d both eaten their fill and had stared into the flames in awkward silence for quite some time, the tension became too much.

Laur-ke cleared her throat, hoping to grab his attention. She knew he was listening, though he refused to acknowledge her. “Zen,” she whispered, “please talk to me.” He remained silent and stalwart. She was convinced he would refuse to ever speak to her again, when his deep, lyrical voice rolled over her.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“But… but,” she stumbled, grasping at words, “there’s everything to talk about! You have to understand…”

“There’s nothing to understand!” He roared, pinning her with his glowing red eyes. “You‘re a night elf. There’s nothing else I need to _understand_ ,” he sneered. She felt new tears sliding down her cheeks. He stared at her a moment longer, a riot of emotions crossing his face, before lying down with his back to her. Laur-ke’s heart fractured.

Sleep was a long time coming. Zen cringed at the muffled sobs coming from the other side of the cave. It was pure torture not to go to her, comfort her. He thought again of their kiss and wanted nothing more than to hold her again and pick up where they left off. It was an exercise in self restraint not to do so. Eventually sleep claimed him. He woke in the middle of the night, the fire having died out and only faint moonlight highlighting the shadows. Something was moving. Zen lay perfectly still. A dark form materialized at his side, kneeling on the edge of his furs. She reached out and gently ran a slender finger the length of his tusk. The figure whispered something so softly he could barely hear it. The words were not in a language he knew. Laur-ke turned slightly and he could see the planes of her beautiful features in the soft gray light, her eyes glowing in the darkness. She reached behind her neck and unclasped the necklace she’d worn since she turned. Speaking again, in that language he could only assume was Darnassian, she stared at the pendant cradled in her palm. When she was finished with her little speech she reached out and threaded the chain through his fingers.

Only with great effort did he remain motionless when he caught a glimpse of moonlight reflected off the blade of a skinning knife, which she held in her hand. _Was she going to try and kill him?!_ Instead of drawing the blade across his throat though, she did something much less expected. She whispered a few more unknown words and leaned in to press a gentle kiss to his brow. As she leaned away, he felt a tug on his scalp as she sliced though one of the many small braids throughout his mane of midnight hair. Laur-ke went to stand and he caught her wrist, pulling her back down to him. She gasped, but quickly smiled and lay her body along his. He sought those perfect lips once more, drinking in her essence. He wrapped his arms tight around her body, just as he’d been wanting to do since that morning, hugging her close. Her hands drifted up into his hair, twining in the strands, refusing to let him go. Zen kissed across her cheek and down her neck, relishing the flavor of her skin, which tasted the way he imagined moonlight did. Laur-ke moaned at his attentions. He ran his hands down her body, sliding them back up her thighs, bringing his shirt with them. Her skin was impossibly soft; so, so smooth. Leaning up, he pulled the fabric over her head until she was once again bare before him.

He stopped and stared down at her. She was so beautiful. The way she smiled up at him, eyes glittering with trust and love. Those silver eyes beguiled him. He returned to her lips yet again, kissing her softly. His hand wandered up to caress one dark nipple, while he maneuvered his tusks downward to take the other in his mouth. Laur-ke’s back arched, pushing into him. He could feel a damp heat against his stomach, and he wanted nothing more than to slide into it, loose himself in her.  He slid his body upwards along her’s, eliciting a deep groan at the contact. Once again he captured her lips, finding himself cradled between her thighs, the tip of him just at her center. He pushed forward…

Zen woke with a start. The glow of morning lit the cave. _Just a dream._ Oh, but what a dream it was. His body hummed with unfulfilled desire. Giving himself a mental shake, he considered how he was going to handle the object of his dream. He regretted his outburst last night. She’d been so distraught. She’d begged him to listen. And he wouldn’t. His emotions had been all over the place, still were, yet this morning he couldn’t muster the anger he’d felt so strongly. They were going to have to talk, sort all this out. He needed to understand how it happened. After that, they could figure out what to do. Zen sat up with a groan and pressed his palms into his eyes. Feeling something odd against his left eyelid, he pulled his hand away and looked down to find a delicate silver chain with a crescent moon pendant wound between his fingers.

Zen’s head shot up, immediately seeking Laur-ke. There was no sign of her, or her fur. Scrambling out of his bedroll he ran outside, heart pounding in his chest as the panic grew. “Laur-ke!” He called. No reply. No elf in sight. He frantically searched for any sign of tracks. Nothing. She was a trained hunter, she knew how to cover her trail. His night elf had vanished.

Zen fell to his knees. “What have I done?”


	18. The Heart's Home

**Chapter 18: The Heart’s Home**

There was an orc in his kitchen.

“Brixa.”

“Good morning, sweet ting,” she said cheerfully, gracing him with little more than the sight of her ample backside as she rummaged through the moldering contents of his pantry.

Zen squinted at the light coming through the kitchen’s windows, and grumbled irritably. “It’s the afternoon.”

“Says the troll who sleeps in the bottom of a keg.” There was nothing he could say to that in particular.

“Well, I was going to make brunch, but since you’ve got nothing edible to speak of, I guess the bare basics will have to suffice.” With a showy wave of her hand, Brixa produced a couple mangoes and half a loaf of bread from her robes. Zen shuffled into the room and dropped heavily into a chair, rubbing at his forehead in a futile effort to erase the ache that had taken up residence there.

“Is there a purpose to you being here?”

The orc rolled her eyes and set about slicing a mango. “Tsk, tsk. Is that any way greet someone who could fix your hangover?” Zen cracked his eyelids and stared daggers at her before closing them again, the action having hurt him more than the shaman. “Anyway, I was in the neighborhood.” Brixa shoved a pile of skins off a nearby bench and parked herself with an air of permanence that indicated she wasn’t going anywhere until she got what she wanted.

“Why?” Speech beyond single words was making his head throb.

She shrugged. “Oh, you know, Malark is off in Rachet for the week. Ancestors only know why. I think he’s developed a fetish for Dranei or something. And Gru has decided she’d rather be a rogue than a priest. Don’t know where that turnabout came from. I think she’s been hanging out with too many blood elves. They’ve been putting ideas in that silly head of hers. And I thought I’d swing by Old Master Vu’ku’s and swipe some tuper root from his garden…”

Zen’s brows furrowed, her rambling chatter making him want to plug his ears with whatever was handy. “You stole from Vu’ku?”

“Course not. It isn’t stealing when he’s got no fence. Besides, it was on my way.”

“To what?”

“To you of course! My most favorite drunken, brooding troll.”

“I do no broo- Loa take it, woman, get to the point!”

Brixa sniffed disdainfully. “No need to be an ass. I just figured someone ought to come see if you were still alive.”

“Oh,” he said, unable to think of a better response. “Thanks.”

She continued to sit there, smiling expectantly at him. Zen massaged his temples and pointedly ignored her. Several minutes later, when she hadn’t budged or stopped smiling at him, he sighed. “Is there something else I can help you with?”

“Funny you should ask,” Brixa clapped her hands and grinned wider. Zen mumbled a curse at the sudden sharp sound. “I was hoping you were gonna tell me who she is?”

“None of your business.”

“Ah ha! I knew there was a woman involved!” Damnit, he walked right into that one.

“No there isn’t,” he backpedaled, feeling no particular need to enlighten her.

“Of course there is,” she replied with certainty, finally getting up and proceeding to fix him tea, which, despite tasting like boiled rocks, quickly sent his headache packing. “You’ve been moping around the Echos for six months now, and haven’t entertained a female once.” Zen wasn’t sure he wanted to know how she knew that. “So, if you plan on getting rid of me any time soon, you better pony up the details, because I’m sick of your downtrodden ass.”

Slumping further into his chair, Zen knew he wasn’t talking his way out of this, unless he talked. Honestly, it would be a relief to tell someone, and who better than his best and oldest friend? She was the least likely to judge him, or name him a traitor. They’d known each other forever. Though to she looked like an orc, Brixa was a troll through and through. She’d been orphaned as a toddler and a Darkspear family had taken her in and raised her as their own. She and Zen were nearly inseparable as kids, and though the years and distance had taken them far apart, they remained close.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Remember a while back when I wrote to you about getting a saber as a pet, before Deathwing tore everything up?” She nodded her head encouragingly. “So, there’s a bit more to that story.” Zen proceeded to tell her about Laur-ke, from the day he found her to the day he lost her.

“It was the night of the Cataclysm that everything went to shit. I suppose it was all that wild magic in the air that did it.” Brixa frowned, remembering her own experiences of that fateful day. “Anyway, Laur-ke was having a nightmare, whining something fierce, when out of no where she starts shrieking and takes off into the storm. I go running after her and when I finally catch up, she’s sucked into this ball of light. I knew it was magic, but it just didn’t register that it was druid magic. So, the light fades and there’s this night elf lying right where my saber had been. I swear on all the Gods, I had no idea. I was just blind, or stupid…”

At this point, Brixa had a hand slapped over her mouth, eyes wide in horror. She was well acquainted with Zen’s history with night elves. She was the one who held him as he broke down at his family’s funeral after all. She was all too aware of his blind hatred of the Kal-dorei. “What did you do,” she gasped, afraid of what his answer would be.

“I carried her back to the cave. I tucked her in and watched her sleep.” Brixa breathed a sign of relief, glad he hadn’t murdered his friend in a fit of rage. As a shaman, she’d had quite a bit of interaction with druids over the years, and of all the occupations, they were the most likely to ignore race and say ‘live and let live’. “I was so mad,” Zen frowned, staring into space. “I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t know if she’d been tricking me from day one. Now that I’ve had the time to think about it, to analyze it, I don’t think she was. I don’t think, before that night, that she was able to turn back. She seemed so lost. Gods, she begged me, pleaded with me to talk to her, told me she was still the same Laur-ke she’d always been, and I just wouldn’t listen.” Zen’s eyes had started to glitter with unshed tears.

Brixa’s heart ached for him. “So, what happened? Did she leave? You didn’t hurt her, did you?”

“No. Yes. She did leave. Because of me and how I was. And I  _did_  hurt her, not physically, but managed it all the same.” He got a far-away look then. “She was so beautiful. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. And when I kissed her…”

“Wait, what?” The orc interrupted. “You kissed her? When did that happen?!”

“The morning after. She came out, all unsteady on her feet. I caught her when she stumbled. I don’t quite know how it happened. One moment I was standing there, her in my arms, and the next my lips were on hers. I can’t even describe it. I still dream about it, about her. Can’t get her out of my head. And like a fool I shoved her away. She cried and all I wanted to do was hold her, but I wouldn’t, because I was stubborn and stuck in my hatred of night elves. The next morning she was gone. Left me her necklace and disappeared.” He had absently started stroking the pendant he always wore. Brixa’s eyes were drawn to the action and she was shocked to see, mixed in with the teeth and feathers, a delicate silver crescent moon.

Sitting up straighter with a sniffle, Zen continued in a much more matter-of-fact tone. “The rest you know. I spent a couple more weeks in Ashenvale. Said I was hunting, but really I was looking for her. After a while I gave up. I knew she didn’t want to be found. So I headed back to Orgrimmar. The whole world was torn up. There as plenty to occupy myself with, helping rebuild. I wasn’t crazy about Thrall making Garrosh the new Warchief,” Brixa snorted at that, “so I packed up and moved on to Thunder Bluff for a while. Told myself I was just going there to help with the cleanup. In reality, I wanted to spend time around some druids. Learn more about their ways. Then Vol’jin made the call to take down Zalazane, so I came back. And here I am.” Zen stole a glance at Brixa, wanting and dreading to see her reaction, but she just looked sad. “Funny thing is,” Zen said in such a way that indicated it wasn’t amusing at all, “there was this old tauren shaman who had Laur-ke figured out. I bought the paints from him I used to hide her tattoos. He asked me if I’d ever thought she was a druid, and like an moron I said ‘no’. He said the strangest thing before we left. He said ‘sometimes the heart sees what the mind is blind to’. I’m still not really sure what he meant by that. I looked for him when I went back to Thunder Bluff. Thought he could answer some of my questions. They told me he died during the Shattering. I guess I’ll never know now.”

Brixa stared at him for a moment, lost in thought herself, but quickly shook it off. “You’re a fool, Zen’jakar.” He snapped his eyes up to meet hers, bristling just a bit.

“What do you want me to do?! She betrayed me, and I can’t get past that fact, but I miss her like a lost limb. I’m useless now. Every time I go hunting, I’m expecting her to be at my side. It just isn't the same without her. I’m not sure I could kill a night elf if my life depended on it. I’m broken and it’s all her fault!”

“I take that back. You’re a blind fool  _and_  an idiot.” Zen opened his mouth, ready to tear her a new one, but Brixa was quick to cut him off. “Shut up and listen to me you block headed male. I’ve known you since I was three years old. We were each other’s first kiss when we were ten! I can read you like a book. You’re in love with the elf and there’s nothing you’re going to do to change that.” She threw up a hand to cut off his knee-jerk protest. “We don’t get to pick who we love, and the heart doesn’t give a damn about race or faction. You need to let go of the hurt and embrace that fact, or you’re going to spend the rest of your days doing what you are now: drinking yourself into oblivion trying to forget.”

Zen wanted to protest. Loa, he wanted to tell her she was wrong, but Brixa always had a knack for getting to the root of a problem and was never one to sugar coat it. And she was right, of course. He needed to face it. He loved Luar-ke. He loved a night elf with everything he had. That knowledge came with an aching so intense that it tugged ruthlessly at the muscles in his chest, clenched those around his heart, and it almost hurt to have it beat because he didn’t think his mistakes could be undone.

He felt Brixa’s hand fall softly on his shoulder. That simple, gentle action released the flood gates and he choked on a sob. “Shhh,” she crooned, rubbing his broad shoulders. “Let it out.” And he did. For the first time since his family was laid to rest, Zen wept.

When the tears dried up, and the shaman had made him another cup of tea, one that was palatable this time, he was ready to face things again. He sat, elbows resting on knees and looked at his friend. “So, what am I supposed to do?”

“Go look for her, of course. From what it sounds like to me, she had feelings for you too.”

“But how?” Zen lamented. “She could be anywhere. And it’s not like I can waltz right into Astranaar and ask after her. Shit,” he cursed unexpectedly, causing Brixa to give him a quizzical look. “I don’t even know her name. Gods, I never asked. All this time I’ve been thinking of her as Laur-ke, and that’s the name I gave her!” Zen dropped his face into his hands with a groan. “I’m never going to find her…”

“Well you certainly won’t if you don’t look!” Brixa retorted sharply.

“And what happens if I do find her and she doesn’t gut me on sight, huh? We’re at war. It’s not as though we can be together. I couldn’t even find a safe place for her when she was a saber! How in the Fel am I supposed to have a relationship with a night elf?” Just contemplating the logistics of such a thing dampened any enthusiasm he might have mustered from finally accepting that he loved her.

“I don’t know. I’m not omniscient. But we’ll figure it out if and when it comes to that.”

“We?”

“Of course, you halfwit,” Brixa grinned. “You don’t think I’d let you run off on this hare-brained adventure without me, did you? Besides, you need a woman to keep you in line until we find your elf and she can take over.” Zen couldn’t help but return her smile. For the first time in a year and a half, he actually felt like the future held some promise.

 


	19. The Auction

_The moonlight was weak, but to her, the darkness was clear as day, only cast in shades of gray and black. Her eyes were dry and scratchy from crying and her muscles cramped from the position she'd been long curled in. The troll had passed into sleep some time ago, relaxing onto his back from the stiff position he'd taken facing away from her. It was the darkest hour of the night. It was time._

_Arolei quietly unfolded her limbs and stretched. If she'd had any tears left, they might have threatened to fall again at what she planned, but for the time, they were spent. Silently she packed some provisions in a spare satchel, folding her fur and tucking it in on top. She would take only the bare necessities. The last thing she wanted was for Zen to consider her a thief on top of everything else. She took her time, dragging her feet, not wanting to go through with it, but knowing that to stay, to see the betrayal and hate in Zen's eyes each day, would crush her inch by inch, until there was nothing left. A soft chirp for the rear of the cave turned her head and she smiled. Lar'ja had stayed up with her. Unlike his master, he did not doubt her. Animals do not know hate. Despite their frequent spats, she loved the raptor dearly and would miss his quirky personality. She stroked his nose, telling him as much, and was rewarded with a reptile purr. Leaning her forehead against the broad expanse of his, she asked him to watch out for Zen in her stead and hoped that one day they would meet again._

_Reluctantly drawing away, Arolei stood for several minutes simply staring at the man she loved. Leaving him would be leaving a piece of herself behind. Unable to put it off any longer though, she went to him and knelt at his side. To her, he was beautiful. He always had been. She reached out a hand and gently stroked the length of a long curved tusk. It was cool and hard, gleaming in the low light._

_"I've always loved your tusks," she whispered in Darnassian; slipping into her mother tongue without noticing. "I couldn't imagine you without them. Be careful in battle that you don't damage them. I won't be there to watch your back. Don't let yourself get hurt again, either. I couldn't bare it if something happened to you." She sighed and looked out of the cave, at the start point of the journey she was about to reluctantly embark on. "I don't know what I'm going to do without you. I have no idea who I am any more." Arolei reached behind her neck and unclasped the silver chain there. Pooling in her palm, she contemplated the ornament. "My mother gave me this necklace. It's been my most valuable possession since that day, and this is the first time I've ever taken it off. It's been in my family for centuries. It represents love. The kind of love that time, distance and death cannot shake. I want you to have it because you hold my heart. And no matter what you feel for me now, I'll never stop loving you."_

_New tears, having replenished themselves, threatened to fall. Arolei forced them back. Palming the small skinning knife she held, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to Zen's brow, hoping to convey to his dream-state everything that she felt. As she pulled back, she slipped the blade beneath one of his long thin braids, decorated with tiny carved silver beads, and sliced through the hair. This was the trade she required; her heart for a single piece of him. Wrapping it around her fist, Arolei picked up her pack and silently slipped from the cave into the dark forest._

_It took almost a week, traveling at night, carefully covering her tracks, before she stumbled across another night elf. To be more accurate, she all of a sudden found herself surrounded by three Sentinels and their saber mounts. Taking in her disheveled appearance, she told them only that she'd met trouble on the road. They accepted the story readily seeing as large swaths of Ashenvale had been damaged or destroyed during the recent Cataclysm. One of the female warriors pulled Arolei up behind her on a dark purple saber and escorted the wayward elf back to civilization. It was a surreal feeling riding a saber rather than being one._

_During the trek, the women brought her up to speed on the state of the Kal-dorei lands, and the heavy casualties that had occurred. No comment was made on Arolei's morose disposition, as all were saddened by the death and destruction. She was deposited at the edge of the city of her birth, left to find her own way. Arolei slipped anonymously through the streets, few taking any notice of her, too preoccupied with their own troubles. Making her way to the northwestern end of town, she sought the bower of her parents. She had not been home for several years prior to her imprisonment by the furbolgs. Having spent so long unaware of their existence, her heart ached to see them again; to have her mother hold her as she wept for all that she'd lost. She broke into a jog as she turned onto the familiar path, only to slide to a stop at the darkened, lifeless house awaiting her. Entering she found only dust and dried leaves, not the loving warmth she'd sought._

_"Hello," a feminine voice called from the entry. "Are you lost?" Arolei turned to face a pale-skinned blue-haired woman with leaf tattoos over her eyes. Those eyes went wide in surprise at the sight of her face. "Arolei? Is that really you? Sweet Elune, we all thought you dead!" The woman darted forward and swept the other elf into a tight embrace. She stood straight-backed and still for a moment, before relaxing into the hug. She remembered now. "They told us the whole delegation was killed! That there was hardly enough left to identify who was who. How did you escape? Where have you been all this time?!"_

_Arolei wasn't prepared to answer that question, so she deflected with one of her own instead. "Where are my parents, Surala? Why are they not here?"_

_The other woman stepped back and cupped her cheek. "Oh, darling. When news reached us of your death, they were both distraught. Unable to bare the loss of their only daughter, they went to Moonglade and retreated into the Emerald Dream. To my knowledge, they remain there still, their bodies protected in the crypts."_

_Arolei's heart stuttered. There was no one left. Her best friend and lover were dead. Her parents were lost in the land of dreams. And the one being she loved and wished for more than any other had driven her away. She felt what little remained of her world shatter. She was a survivor, however. She had come though much, and would conquer this too. Arolei, let her heart harden. It would not be broken again. "I believe I should meet with the council. I have information I'm sure they'd like to hear." With that, she walked from the house and didn't look back._

_The council had indeed been pleased with the information she provided on the ill-fated delegation to the corrupted furbolgs. Nearly as pleased as they were to learn of her continued existence. When asked where she had been in the many months since, Arolei stated only that she had been held captive for quite some time, suffering from amnesia, and that she eventually escaped and made a home for herself in the forest while she healed. They seemed to accept this version of events, as the truth would have been unbelievable. She would not have told them of it anyway. Her memories of her time with Zen were a precious treasure she held close and would not share with another soul._

_Deathwing's destruction lead to many changes, including an increase in Horde presence and raids around Astranaar. The first time a company of orcs and tauren attacked the town, Arolei was unable to fight, finding herself frozen. While the others believed it was due to the trauma she had experienced, the elf knew she would never again be able to fight the Horde on behalf of the Alliance. She made the decision, then, to seek out her parents in Moonglade. The druid enclave was neutral and pacifist. Perhaps she would join them in the Dream. Perhaps there she could forget._

"Arolei. Azeroth to Arolei Windrhyme. Any life in there?" Arolei snapped out of her reverie to find Isavar rapping his knuckles against her skull. She swatted him away without answering. "Where do you go when you do that?"

Arolei shrugged. "Memories," she replied cryptically. The green-haired night elf looked at her expectantly, hoping this might be the day she finally elaborated, but she just ignored him and went back to surveying their surroundings. They were in the newly discovered land of Pandaria, home to the strange black and white bear people. Despite the pleasant nature of the natives, she couldn't help but draw comparisons to the bearmen of her past. She and Isavar were part of the security detail for a delegation of Cenarion Circle Druids who were meeting with the leaders of the Pandaren Empire. It had been a long journey to reach the new continent, and Arolei had found herself in awe of land's beauty. The architecture of the Vale of Eternal Blossoms was exotic and interesting, untouched by the ravages of war and the Shattering.

The Pandaren had, thus far at least, avoided allying themselves with a particular faction, instead creating zones within their city friendly to one or the other: the Shrine of Seven Stars for the Alliance and the Shrine of Two Moons for the Horde. As a member of the Cenarian Circle, Arolei was technically neutral, but she knew that would mean little if she showed her lavender hide in the Horde quarter. This little fact pained her, as she'd had many good times amongst the Horde, even if they been ignorant of her race at the time. She would not even allow herself to entertain the secret hope that, were she to walk those hostile streets, she might glimpse a certain blue-gray troll. Her heart, long since frozen to protect itself, would not permit such a thing.

Since the day she arrived in Moonglade and viewed the slumbering bodies of her parents, she had lived a vagabond existence, always the first to volunteer for missions. It had allowed her to travel much of the known world and see things she had only once dreamed of, but her soul remained heavy. Isavar, among others, had attempted to crack her shell, but she was stoically cool and aloof. The invisible armor she'd crafted for herself would not easily be pierced. Instead, she threw herself into training, learning many new spells, her focus drifting to healing rather than combat. She was an accomplished druid before the furbolgs, but now her skills were finely honed. All but one. She had never once, since the day of the Cataclysm, attempted to shift forms. Though she made excuses for the benefit of the trainers, the fact was, the idea of it terrified her. Would she become trapped in an animal body again, unable to return to herself? Deep, deep down, she couldn't bare the thought of wearing her saber skin without Zen at her side. Her long lost troll defined that part of her existence, and she would not revisit it in his absence.

Rather than training for melee battle as a cat, she practiced with weaponry. At first glance few would identify her as a druid. She no longer wore robes, finding them cumbersome, cladding herself instead in formfitting leather, today tight leggings and a corset-style sleeveless vest that laced up the front. Also in opposition to her identity as a night elf, she had adopted the practice of weaving small beaded braids through her hip-length ivory hair.  _Much like a troll_ , some whispered behind her back. Her toned biceps and forearms were now decorated with banded tattoos in deep purple that matched those over her eyes. She certainly no longer looked the part she was born to play. Still, her skills were highly valued by the Circle and her eccentric habits overlooked.

"Give me something, would you?" Isavar whined. He was very young, in Arolei's opinion, and also quite annoying; always wanting to know more about her. "What about this?" He asked, snagging a finger through the necklace she never removed, giving it a tug. She fixed him with dark look and stepped away, removing the offending digit. "Come on, Arolei. There's got to be a good story there. Is it hair from a lover? Must be a night elf, being blue like that. Is he, or she, back in Ashevale or Teldrassil?"

"No."

Isavar rolled his eyes, giving up for the time being. He was determined though, and there'd no doubt be more questions in ten minutes when he was bored again. The delegation was wrapping up their negotiations for the day and saying their goodbyes. An hour later, having escorted them back to the compound they'd been provided by the Pandaren, and covertly ditching one obnoxious night elf male, Arolei found herself wandering the city. She needed to pick up a few items at the auction house. It was one of the few borderline neutral locations in the Vale, there not having been time yet to construct separate ones in each faction's quarter. Not that it bothered  _her_ , but the atmosphere was often tense.

Arolei wove her way through the crowd, tuning out the ever-present din, finding a spot near the front. The throng subtly parted, making way for the strange looking night elf that exuded a cold 'don't-fuck-with-me' confidence. She'd stood there viewing the wares offered for some ten or fifteen minutes before she felt a presence that raised the hair on the back of her neck.  _It can't be…_  Arolei slowly let her eyes drift over the mob until they were captured by a vivid pair of burgundy orbs. Her breath caught in her throat and her heart seized. All about her faded, still and silent, as her mouth opened to whisper one single word.

"Zen."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly not sure where the lines are drawn between the factions in Pandaria, or if there is a neutral zone, so to speak. For the purposes of my story though, there is.


	20. The Claiming

**Chapter 20: The Claiming**

"I'm only gonna say it once, Malark. When those Dranei hand you your ass, I'm not going to lift a finger to stop them. I might even help," Brixa scolded her adoptive brother.

"I can't help it Bri. It's the tentacles; they just do something to me." He gave an exaggerated shiver, which won him a smack to the back of his bright red head from his orcish sister. The trio of hoofed ladies across the square giggled at the troll's plight, which led Malark to waggle his eyebrows in their direction. Zen rolled his eyes at his friends' antics. His own sisters had been a fair bit older than him, and he'd missed out on this sort of sibling rivalry. He'd give almost anything to have them back though.

In the end, not only Brixa, but her brother and their little sister, Gru'bela had joined Zen on his hunt for the now infamous saber-that-just-happened-to-be-a-night-elf-whose-name-he-didn't-know-but-whom-he-was-apparently-in-love-with. Traveling with this crowd was an adventure in and of itself, and certainly never dull. They'd accompanied him to Splinter Tree first, hoping to get as close as possible to the night elf enclave he suspected she'd made for. The effort was fruitless. The only way to get near Astranaar was to join a raid, and that was the last thing Zen was about to do. He'd asked around amongst the soldiers stationed there if any had seen an elf of her description. Most looked at him like he had two heads. What did he want with a particular elf? Wasn't one as good to kill as the next?

Marlark suggested they visit Rachet and Booty Bay, since they'd be able to talk with actual night elves there. Everyone was quite well aware of his ulterior motive for visiting the neutral towns. Still, it was a worthy idea. Unfortunately, it too led to nothing but dead ends. The discovery of the new continent was an exciting prospect, but Zen wasn't convinced that it would be worthwhile to travel to such far-flung, unknown territory until Garrosh went and bombed Theramore. The war, at that point, escalated to where getting as far away as possible seemed like the safest bet. And since Laur-ke could be anywhere, Pandaria seemed just as likely as any other locale.

"Come on guys, knock it off," Gru yelled. The diminutive troll was ignored by her siblings as they continued to grapple with one another. Zen just walked away, not in the mood.

"Where are you going?" Brixa called after him. He smirked, hearing her indignant yelp as Malark manhandled her.

"I'm going for a walk. I'll meet you back at the inn later." With an admonishment not to kill each other, or get arrested, he left his party to fend for themselves while he went to clear his head. It had become a habit, walking like this, though it never produced the intended result. He was haunted by the specter of his lost love. He saw her everywhere and no where. He'd prayed to every God, Aspect and Ancestor he could think of that someone bring his Luar-ke back to him, but none had answered.

It was her scent that snared him. Walking past the auction house, Zen caught a whiff of moonflower and rain, which lit into the animal part of his brain and drew him like a beacon. He entered the crowded building, hardly daring to hope that his long search might be at an end. The mass of bodies, large to small, gnomes to tauren, surged around him, but there, near the front, was a single point of stillness that all else seemed to orbit. Even from the back, he knew her. He'd know her anywhere. There was an aura about her that spoke to his very cells, calling to him like moth to flame. Zen stood still, suddenly unsure, wanting more than anything for her to look his way, yet terrified of what he would find in her eyes. How could she ever forgive him?

As if sensing his presence, he saw her shoulders stiffen just before she turned to scan the assembly. Zen's heart thumped wildly in his chest. Two years. Two years of hurt and loss and craving and love. Two years and this was the moment. The moment that he'd imagined every day and dreamt of every night. Her glowing silver eyes finally met his and he felt a jolt pass through his body as he saw them widen. She was even more beautiful than he remembered, clad head to toe in leather that fit like a second skin, with an enticing sliver of purple flesh showing through the lacings down her torso, and a deceptively delicate looking pole arm strapped to her back. She radiated finely honed skill and self-assurance. He watched the purple bow of her lips form a surprised 'o'. As they stared across the room at one another, time seemed to grind to a halt. Though he could not hear a sound, Zen clearly understood when she mouthed his name.

Blinking, loathe to break eye contact, Zen turned on his heel and walked back out the way he'd entered. He didn't need to look back to know she followed. He could feel her, like the phantom pain of a missing arm. He walked down several side streets and out of the city proper. His sharp hunter senses heard the slight crunch of gravel behind him, the quiet intake and exhale of breath. She wasn't trying to hide from him. He stalked onward, a particular destination in mind. It would not do for prying eyes to witness their reunion, trolls and night elves being ancient enemies. Not that he had any particular expectations. He could only hope he wouldn't be on the receiving end of a sharp blade before he had a chance to apologize and explain himself.

Arolei followed Zen without a thought. He might drive an arrow straight through her the moment they were alone, but at least she'd have gotten to see him one last time. Those eyes, those burgundy eyes that haunted her every night, had not held the hate and betrayal she expected. In fact, they nearly glowed with some emotion she didn't quite recognize, only knew she wanted bask in for the rest of her days. He walked briskly a dozen meters ahead, never once looking behind, assured that her honor would not allow her to stab him in the back. They left the bustle of the evening rush behind and entered the maze of temples and gardens that dotted the Vale, reds and golds glowing in the evening light. Zen ducked through an archway ahead and Arolei hurried to follow.

She entered the secluded glade only to find it empty, no troll in sight. If this was a game, she would willingly play if only for the chance to be near him. In a show of solidarity, she slipped the pole arm from her back and leaned it against a nearby column, holding her empty arms out and turning in a circle. As she paused, eyes trying to see through the surrounding bushes, a shadow slipped up behind her and wrapped a strong arm around her torso, pinning her arms to her sides. The other reached up, lightly griping her throat with a large three-fingered hand. "Don't you know better than to follow strange trolls," a familiar voice rumbled in her ear, "Luar-ke."

A shudder ran down her spine. Goddess, she'd missed his voice; the sound of his name for her, rolling off his tongue like a caress. Arolei held still for a moment, eyes closed, simply breathing in his long missed scent, relishing in the feel of his muscular arms around her and the heat of his body pressed against her back. She'd wanted this, had needed to feel him like this, for so, so long. All the dreams, all the hopes and wishes… Then she remembered just why he'd been at the top of her shit list for two years running.

Zen relaxed his grip a faction, concerned by her lack of response, and she exploded. Her lithe frame spun in his arms, slamming her palms against his chest with an unexpected strength, causing him to stumble back a step. She pushed him again, before he'd regained his balance. "You bastard!" She hissed. "How could you? After all the time we spent together, after everything we shared, you just threw it all away! Threw  _me_  away!" Her eyes flashed like molten silver, tiny fangs bared, and she punctuated each grievance with another shove until he was backed up against the stone column of a temple guardian. "You were my best friend, my  _everything_! I  _loved_  you! And you ran me off without even a chance to try and explain!" Zen stared in awe, jaw hanging, unable to form a coherent response. There,  _there_  was the ferocity of his Luar-ke, the fierceness that he'd missed like a piece of his soul. She was exquisite in her fury; a vision of beauty and wrath. It registered then that she was screaming at him in Zandali like she'd been born speaking it. He took note of the trollish details of her person: the tattoos, the beaded braids, the thin dark blue rope about her throat that he recognized as his own hair.  _Did she just say she loves me?_

"You broke my heart, you arrogant, self righteous…" Her rant was abruptly silenced as Zen crashed his lips down on her own. It was a brutal kiss. He poured into it all the passion, the love, the loss he'd been feeling since that last day he saw her; the burning desire and the desperate devotion he felt for her. A moment passed where Arolei stood frigid in surprise, shocked and overwhelmed, then she was kissing him back with equal fervor. It was a battle for dominance, waged through lips and tongues. His arms once again wrapped tight around her, pulling her flush against him. She clawed at his chest for purchase, finally grabbing a tusk in one hand and a handful of midnight hair in the other. Zen growled at her forwardness and slid his hands down to grip her ass tightly, hoisting her up to his level, rumbling in approval when her long, leather-clad legs wrapped around his waist.

He spun them, slamming her back into the stone pedestal. Arolei hissed at the sudden contact, jarring the connection of their mouths. Zen ground his now rock hard arousal into her, resulting in matched breathy moans. He took a few seconds to admire her gorgeous elven face, caged between his tusks, before attacking her neck, biting at the soft lavender column with pressure just shy of piercing flesh. She did indeed taste like moonlight, just as he'd imagined. Arolei fought back, sharp nails scraping across the nape of his neck, leaving welts. Zen's brain ceased processing somewhere in the vicinity of "clothing off." Not missing a beat, he deftly pulled a short blade from the sheath he had felt on Arolei's belt. Leaning back slightly, he thrilled at the desire he saw pooling in her silver eyes. With a devilish grin, he slid the blade upwards, expertly slicing through the lacings of her vest. She raised one long, thin eyebrow, but uttered no complaint.

He had just a moment to visually worship those flawless breasts, which his memory had  _not_  done justice, before the elf was tugging at his mailed shirt, fine fingers running up the muscles of his stomach. In one fluid motion, he yanked it over his head and tossed it aside. Her lips immediately sought his chiseled chest, teeth finding a hard blue nipple and tugging at the bar through it. He growled low and wrapped an arm securely around her waist, using the other hand to strip off her leggings, and drop his own, kicking both away. Then it was skin on skin, their bodies already heated and slick with sweat. Her naked legs were back around his hips and he could feel her wet heat against his hardness. Zen was lost, primal need eclipsing all else. This was  _his_  female, the lone woman he'd ever desired as his mate. Only when he had sheathed himself to the hilt within her, when she had gasped and thrown her head back, did he pause. The feeling was beyond anything he could have imagined. It surpassed anything he had ever experienced. There was a rightness too it that defied explanation.

Arolei tilted her head forward, chest heaving, and met his eyes, Zen's glowing almost as brightly as hers. She snarled, bearing her small canines, and Zen slammed his mouth back against hers as he drove into her body. It was feral and unforgiving, a claiming on both sides, each scratching and biting at the other, equally drawing and tasting blood. They were perfectly matched. All too soon, Arolei was blindsided by a violent climax, her head falling back once more as she shrieked at the stars. Her passage clamped firmly on Zen and he followed her over the edge, muffling a roar against her neck. They stayed as they were, him still inside her, body pinning hers to the statue, trembling as they relearning how to breathe. Zen opened his eyes and lifted his head to meet Arolei's gaze. It was soft, and filled with the love and trust he's seen only in his dreams. She smiled gently at him and he felt his lips tug upwards in return. Lifting a hand, Zen gently swept some errant ivory stands from her face.

He smirked when he noticed several thin rivulets of blood running from a large bite mark on her shoulder, dripping down between her breasts. Zen lifted a hand to catch a few drops on his finger, bringing the warm red fluid to his mouth and licking it away, his eyes never leaving hers. He was thrilled at the hunger and desire reflected there. Her blood tasted like moonlight, concentrated to liquid form. He couldn't help but lean back in for another kiss when he noticed her pink tongue flick out to sip from the smear of blood across her own lips. His blood. For she had marked him too. This kiss was firm and slow, powerful but restrained, tasting of both their essences. As they separated once more, he leaned his forehead against hers, holding her tightly. "Mine," he whispered.

"Mine," she whispered back.


	21. The Glade

**Chapter 21: The Glade** :

"How did you…" Arolei began.

"I can't believe…" Zen stated, at the same time. They both looked into the other's eyes and laughed. Troll and elf lay in a heap on the soft moss, quite worn out from the physical exertions of their reunion and the necessary venting of emotions. Arolei was draped half over Zen's chest, her head pillowed on his shoulder and his arm securely around her waist. Though the initial frenzy had passed, neither was yet willing to release their hold on the other. "Ladies first," Zen graciously offered.

Arolei smiled, not quite able to believe that she was currently ensconced in Zen's arms, that he no longer seemed to care she was a night elf, and that they had just passionately mated beneath the light of Elune. "I was going to ask how you found me? I mean, was it just an accident or had you been searching?" She looked away at that last question, unsure of what answer she sought.

Zen tilted her face back up to his with a finger on her chin. "I've been looking for you since the morning you left, you silly elf." His heart all but overflowed when she graced him with another smile, one that shone with happiness. Looking like that, she was more beautiful than he could have ever imagined, and he wondered what good he had done in his life to deserve such a thing. He slipped his hand up into her hair and pulled her down for another kiss, this one soft and gentle. "I've missed you," he whispered against her lips. She murmured her assent.

When she pulled back again, so as to see his face, Zen's tone became more serious. "I'm sorry. So, so sorry for what I did and what I said. If I could take it back… I was a stubborn fool. I should have listened, should have seen how upset and lost you were. Is there any way you can forgive me?"

"My foolish troll," Arolei replied with warmth, "I think it's rather obvious I already have. But how did you come to be here?"

Zen's face lit up with a happy smile of his own at her declaration. "Well, I searched for you in Ashenvale for a few weeks, right after you left, but I realized you didn't want to be found." Arolei frowned at this, but nodded. "I'll have to congratulate you on your skills. I never found a single sign of where you'd gone."

"I suppose I had a good teacher," she teased.

"I guess credit should be given where it's due," he replied in kind, receiving a light smack on his chest from a mock affronted elf. "Anyway, I spent time in Orgrimmar and Thunder Bluff, then went back to Senjin Village and the Echo Isles. Helped kick Zalazane's ass. Built myself a small place near the ocean. I was miserable though, pinning away for you." He was unable to read the look on Arolei's face. "So one day, my friend Brixa comes over and drags my sorry self out to go looking for you. We've been at it for six months, traveling all over the place. Came down here just a week ago. Wanted to get the Fel away from Garrosh and his insanity."

Arolei looked thoughtful now. "So it was just happenstance that you were at the auction?"

"Actually, I was just walking by and caught your scent."

" _Really_. I suppose the Goddess works in mysterious ways."

"And you? Where have you been hiding all this time?" Zen was extremely curious.

"When I left you, I went to Astranaar. It's where I'm from. I expected to find my family there waiting for me, but my parents are beyond my reach now." Zen stroked her back in comfort, concerned by the aggrieved look on her face. He wondered how they died. "They're in the Emerald Dream," she clarified. Zen had little understanding of what that meant, but for her sake was glad they were still alive. He knew the pain of loosing one's parents all too well. "I left for Moonglade as soon as I realized I could never fight the Horde raiders that were attacking the city. That's your fault, you know." She gave him a look that said she wasn't sorry for it.

"Yeah, I'm kind of useless in that department now, too."

"Well, knowing that, there wasn't really a place for me in Astranaar anymore, so I went somewhere neutral, and joined the Cenarion Circle. I've been doing nothing but traveling and training since then. That's why I'm here in Pandaria."

"It's amazing," Zen said appreciably, stroking her cheek with his free hand. "I feel like I know everything about you, and absolutely nothing at all."

"I suppose we'll have to remedy that," she grinned before turning serious. "I know you didn't believe me the first time I said it, but I really am the same person…saber. I need you to know that I never deceived you on purpose. I honestly didn't know I was a night elf. I only began to suspect after the arena, and even then, I didn't want to believe it, because I knew it would mean loosing you."

Zen didn't know what to say. She broke his heart and mended it all over again in a matter of moments. So he hugged her tight and hoped she understood when words failed him. They stayed like that for some time, each lost in thought, simply enjoying the closeness of the other. Finally Zen wiggled a bit and Arolei looked up at him again. "Can I ask you a question?" She was puzzled by the sheepish look he wore.

"Anything."

"What's your name?"

Arolei laughed aloud. That really was the last thing she expected. When she finally got control of herself, tears had formed at the corners of her eyes. "Arolei. My name is Arolei Windrhyme."

"Arolei," Zen repeated. It was a lovely name. "I like it. I'll still probably slip up and call you Luar-ke, though."

"I love that name. I'd be honored if you still called me by it."

Zen grinned. "In that case, it will be my special pet name for you, seeing as you were my pet." That earned him another smack, followed up by a kiss, which quickly deepened. Arolei slid her body up until she was straddling his hips, molding herself to him so tightly it wasn't obvious where lavender skin left off and blue-gray began.

Arolei gently kissed every inch of Zen's face, working her way down his neck and deftly maneuvering around his tusks. She halted with a gasp when she reached his chest, having found his pendant and the familiar charm on it. "You kept it!" She could hardly speak she was so overcome by emotion.

Zen wiped a tear away with his thumb before it could trickle down her cheek. "I would never part with it. Why did you give it to me, after how appallingly I treated you? You spoke at the time, but it was in Darnassian."

"You were awake?" Her shock at the revelation quickly gave way to another, more significant look all together. "I gave it to you because I wanted to tell you, hoped you'd understand, that no matter what you'd said, no matter where life took us or how far apart we were, I loved you. That I love you now and I'll love you always." She peered into his burgundy eyes seeking the knowledge that he felt the same.

Zen's heart tripped over the next beat. She loved him. He could see the truth of it in her glowing silver eyes. She loved  _him_ , despite all the wrongs he'd done her.  _She loves me_. The words reverberated inside his skull. He sat up, her still on his lap. Grabbing the sides of her face, he kissed her with hunger; he kissed her with lust and love, his lips moving over hers as he trembled with the strength of his own emotions. He didn't even need to say the words. He loved her and he would tell her with every touch, every whisper, every laugh and tear. His hand on the small of her back pressed her into him as if he was trying to join their bodies and souls by sheer pressure and force of will.

This time they made love slowly, languidly, learning each other's bodies and responses. Zen rolled them over and covered her body with his. He lavished attention on her neck, her shoulders, her breasts. He took each dark nipple in his mouth in turn, swirling his tongue around the hardened peaks, all but drinking in the sounds of pleasure she made. He ran his palms down her legs, tickling the bottoms of her feet and enjoying her girlish squeals of protest far too much in Arolei's opinion. He slipped first one, then two large fingers inside her and her back arched off he ground. He worked her with his hand until she came again, with a long gasp rather than a scream.

Watching Arolei climax was one of the most dazzling sights he'd even witnessed. He hoped he'd have the opportunity many, many times again. Till the end of his days, if she was agreeable. When her trembling ceased, she pulled him up by his tusks and kissed him soundly, wrapping her long legs around him and pulling him in.

Arolei groaned shamelessly as Zen slid into her once more. It had hurt the first time; he was very big, and it had been a  _very_  long time, but it was a good kind of hurt. This time however, she was thoroughly ready and her body welcomed him like a long lost friend. He filled her fully and perfectly. She'd had lovers before. Alathdrus had not been the first. Though she'd enjoyed the attentions of all, nothing could compare to what she felt now.  _Is this how it feels when you're in love?_ She was swept away on another wave of pleasure before her mind could conjure an answer.

Zen took his time, drawing it out, wanting the experience to last. This was the first time in his life he'd made love. He'd been with many women, more than he could remember, most not worth bothering to. With every single one, it had been no more than fucking. Something to pass time and relieve tension. This was the real deal. He'd never known what he was looking for until he found it. He would not let it go again. Zen swallowed Arolei's scream with a kiss as her release crested, and when followed her a few strokes later, unable to hold out against the onslaught of her inner muscles, he felt as though his soul exploded into hers. He collapsed onto her, careful not to crush her smaller frame with his bulk. She, in turn, hugged him to her with arms and legs, holding him fast.

It was some minutes later when Zen surfaced from the haze of his climax and, with a nuzzle to her neck, rolled to the side, pulling his elf along with him. Once again she lay across his chest, staring thoughtfully at him with her chin pillowed on the backs of her hands. He reached up and ran a thumb over the ring of punctures decorating her shoulder from their earlier coupling. "You're a druid, are you going to heal this?"

Arolei, sat up a bit, propping her elbow on his stomach, and glanced at her shoulder. "No. I want it to scar. I want your mark on me." She poked gently at his own set of wounds, just over his heart. "Just as I won't heal this for you, even if you ask."

Zen grinned. "I'll gladly wear your mark, girlie."

Her attention migrated downward slightly and she ran a fingertip along the ridge of flesh bisecting one side of his torso. "How did you get this?" Zen sighed and dropped his head back to look at the stars. It was not a pleasant memory.

"I got it Northrend. We were on a raid. Some dungeon in Icecrown. It was not long before the final battle. Myself, Lar'ja, Raj'el and a bunch of others, I had several pets at the time too, were hunting Scourge. It was very dark, only had our torches to see by, and  _so_  fucking cold. We entered a large chamber and were immediately set upon by a host of undead and several abominations. A couple of our party went down in the first few minutes. The healers weren't able to keep up with the injuries. My pets and I were fighting this huge, ugly… thing. Don't know what else to call it." Arolei was transfixed, listening to his story.

"Anyway, we were actually making headway; had it backed into a corner, bleeding black nastiness all over the place. All of a sudden I was hit with this cold that wanted to suck the life right out of me. I've never felt anything like it, before or since. I turned and found myself face to face with an orc Death Knight. Big fucker. Had these glowing blue eyes that sent chills straight through me. I hit him with a couple arrows straight off, but he just laughed at me. Two of my pets jumped him, but the bastard ran them right through."

"You might not know it, but hunters form a mental bond with their pets, and we can see through their eyes; to some extent feel what they feel. It was one of those strange things about you that let me know you were different; the fact that I could never form that bond with you. Guess we know why now, huh?" He smirked before continuing. "I felt their deaths and I lost it. Went after him with a blade, which was colossally stupid. I'm good at melee for a hunter, but against an undead warrior? He swung his sword and just about cut me in two. Luckily he was distracted before he could finish the job. Raj got me out of there and back to camp. Trolls will heal from an awful lot that would kill any other race, but there was some sort of spell on that death knight's blade and the healers weren't able to fully put me back together. And so this is my momento from what turned out to be my last battle as a soldier of the Horde. I wasn't even healed when I received word about my family. I left for home immediately and never looked back."

He glanced at Arolei and saw her eyes glistening, as though she felt his pain. "Will you tell me about them?" She asked quietly. "Not right this minute, but… someday?" He nodded. He would tell her anything.

Arolei sighed and lay her head back down on his chest, turning her gaze to the stars as well. "What are we going to do now?" There was no way around the fact that their races suffered from ancient enmity, and that the war between the factions was headed for an epic showdown. She might be a member of a neutral party, but Zen wasn't a druid and couldn't simply join the circle. And it wasn't as though she could just travel the world at his side.

"I don't know, my Laur-ke, I don't know. But you can be certain that nothing and no one is going to take you away from me." He pulled her tight against his side and turned to press a kiss to her forehead.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that wasn't too sappy...


End file.
